Retribution
by Eledhwen
Summary: Sequel to 'The Breton' and 'Death Awaits'. ***Complete: Travers's reaction; and where do they all go from here?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: not mine, Joss Whedon and friends' - apart from Luc, who belongs to me.  
  
Author's notes: the fourth in the 'Breton' series. The last instalment of this, 'Death Awaits', saw Mike Fletcher of the Council attempt to rid the world of Angelus and his suave Breton childe Luc Tarpeau. As Mike went back to England, he and the Scooby Gang were content in the knowledge they had destroyed the Crawford Street mansion and that its occupants were dust. Or were they? Picking up there, the focus is now back on Luc. Retribution is harsh.  
  
Luc could not sleep. The memories of the previous night's whirlwind of pleasure, pain and disappointment were running through his mind. He lay awake in his bed, eyes gazing at the ceiling in the shadowed room. He tried closing his eyes and forcing himself to sleep, but soon gave up and swung his legs out of bed. Collecting his book from the bedside table, Luc stretched, flung on a silk robe, and padded silently through to the main hall.  
  
On the wall and the floor underneath the chains there were still some bloodstains from the Council man, Fletcher. Luc eyed them and smiled, and settled down with his book. Over to one side a very thin stream of sunlight shone through a hole in a drape.  
  
He had been reading for maybe an hour, and judged it was early afternoon, when he heard the noise. He lifted his head from the book and listened - there it was again, a gentle thud and footsteps that would have been inaudible to a human. Another thud, a little further around the building; a pause, and another. Luc tensed, wishing he could creep outside and see what was happening, and maybe find an afternoon snack, but he knew the sun was in his way. Instead, he stood up and made his way silently out of the room.  
  
Angelus and Darla were both asleep, her arm flung across his chest. Luc admired the sight for a moment, and then coughed. "Sire?"  
  
His sire opened his eyes and met Luc's gaze with a dangerous glint. "Luc, I'm sleeping."  
  
"Oui, je sais," Luc said, "but there are noises outside. Human. I think the Slayer and her friends."  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Dropping bags of something around the house. It could be explosives. Maybe. I don't think we should stay here - is there a cellar, or something?"  
  
Fully awake now, Angelus threw back the covers and shook Darla's arm off him. "Hurry, Luc. Go and wake Will. There is a cellar. That damned Watcher knows explosives. Va t'en!"  
  
Luc nodded, and went to find Spike.  
  
Ten minutes later all four of them were in the dank cellar of the mansion, Spike puffing on a cigarette and Darla looking irritated.  
  
"I swear, if nothing comes of this, Luc ." she said. Luc shrugged.  
  
"I promise I heard something."  
  
Angelus paced the ten feet of floor space, his head back to listen better. "There's nothing now, Luc," he said.  
  
Spike pushed his cigarette lighter back into a pocket of his duster and opened his mouth to say something, but his words were swallowed up in a violent shudder and then a loud bang. The roof of the cellar shook, and plaster dust rained down on the four vampires. Stopping his pacing, Angelus' face became dark with anger.  
  
When the noise faded enough to speak, Darla said, "Well, it's as well you were awake, Luc."  
  
Luc nodded back at her.  
  
"When it is night," Angelus said, low and furious, "we collect our things, whatever we can carry, whatever is left; and we are going back to England. It's time the Council of Watchers remembered our names with the proper respect."  
  
"Back to Blighty," said Spike, without much enthusiasm. "Great."  
  
Luc grinned. "I think this will be fun." 


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: see prologue.  
  
Author's note: chapter 1. The next chapter is complete and needs typing up, but will be online soon. Enjoy.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Mike was longing to stretch out his arms above his head, and longing to be able to carry his own bag. Instead he exchanged a rueful grin with the air steward who was with him, pushing the trolley holding his suitcase and hand luggage.  
  
"I hope someone's here to pick me up," he said, as they came through Customs and entered the arrivals hall.  
  
"If not, we'll put you in a taxi," the steward said. But Mike had seen his welcoming party by then; a man, standing frowning in a tweed suit.  
  
"There." He indicated with his head, and the air steward followed him over.  
  
"Mr Travers," Mike said. Quentin Travers nodded.  
  
"Welcome back. I'll take that trolley."  
  
The steward handed it over, grinned at Mike, and hurried away. Left with his boss, there was an awkward silence.  
  
"Well," Travers said, stiffly, "the car's outside."  
  
Mike followed him across the concourse and out to a waiting car, black and anonymous. The driver came to deal with the luggage, and Travers opened the door so that Mike could climb into the back. He followed him in, and leant across to fasten Mike's seatbelt.  
  
They set off, the driver sealed off from them by a glass partition. For a while Travers said nothing, and Mike was glad of the silence. He turned towards the window and watched the grey urban landscape go by, thinking of the sunshine he had left behind him.  
  
"We're taking you back to Headquarters," Travers said, eventually. "We have people who can look after you. And we can debrief."  
  
Mike turned towards his chief. "They're dead, sir. We got the job done. What more do you need to know?"  
  
"Even if they're dead, information about Angelus, about Darla, about the Breton - it's all valuable stuff," returned Travers. "The Council needs it. You can give it."  
  
"What if I don't want to talk about it?" Mike asked. "You can't force me."  
  
Travers opened his mouth to respond, but then shut it again. Mike turned back to the window.  
  
They pulled up outside Headquarters half an hour later, the familiar frontage already glowing with lights from the many windows. Looking up at it, Mike realised he had not really expected to see it again, and to his surprise, he felt a rush of pleasure. Someone came out to fetch the bags, and Mike followed Travers inside.  
  
"You have an hour before the debrief begins," Travers said, and held up a hand to forestall Mike's protests. "Come. Decide there whether you will talk to us. You're in room 34. Davidson will take your bags up and help you change."  
  
Giving in, Mike nodded and followed the young Watcher with his bags upstairs to a comfortably furnished room. The Watcher, polite but distant, calmly helped Mike into a clean shirt without commenting on his injuries, and then disappeared again. Mike lay down on the bed and tried to doze off.  
  
Davidson came back promptly and Mike trailed behind as they went down the imposing stairs and into the main council chamber. It was full; serious men and women seated around the table with one place left empty, the chair pulled out. Mike sat down and the chair was pushed back in towards the table. Silence reigned for a moment longer before Quentin Travers stood up.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Michael Fletcher, one of our active agents. A short while ago I sent him out to California, to track down and dust these vampires." A screen behind Travers flickered into life and he looked to check it was working. "Angelus. Darla. And Luc Tarpeau, known as the Breton. You all remember, I trust, that until recently Angelus was ensouled and working with the renegade Watcher Wyndham-Pryce?"  
  
Mike gritted his teeth and tried to think of something cheerful.  
  
"Mr Fletcher went to Sunnydale, under strict orders not to contact Miss Summers or Mr Giles, as both have turned their backs on this Council. And here, I think, it is for Mr Fletcher to talk." Travers fixed his attention on Mike, who met the cold blue eyes easily. "Why did you disobey orders?"  
  
"I had the files," Mike said, his voice echoing in the chamber. "You've all seen them. I simply realised that dusting those particular vampires was not a job for one man. So I went to the Slayer."  
  
The Council members murmured then, a ripple of surprise, and, Mike thought, interest. Indeed he was pre-empted before he could speak again by a slight lady with grey hair across the table from him.  
  
"What's she like?"  
  
Mike smiled, remembering. "She's . impressive. She looks like a girl but she's strong, powerful - and I don't mean just physically. She leads like an army general."  
  
"Leads who, Mr Fletcher?" another Watcher asked. "These friends we keep hearing about?"  
  
"Yes, her friends," Mike said briefly, and there was another ripple of interest around the table. "Miss Summers has a dedicated group of friends around her, and they help her, support her."  
  
"The Council will remember I reported this when I visited Sunnydale on the Slayer's eighteenth birthday," Travers put in. "Mr Wyndham-Pryce also reported his reservations on his own arrival on the Hellmouth shortly afterwards. How can these . civilians . help, Mr Fletcher?"  
  
Mike looked around the table for hostility, and, to his surprise, found little. "Willow Rosenberg," he said. "And another girl, Tara. Both very powerful witches. They helped find me, later on. Anya - members will know her under the name Anyanka."  
  
"The vengeance demon?" someone asked.  
  
"Yes. A spell went wrong, and she's become mortal," Mike said, beginning to enjoy himself as the senior Watchers became noticeably more attentive. "Then there are two young men, who help Buf - Miss Summers - fight. One of them is in fact her boyfriend." Another murmur. "And Mr Giles. Miss Summers depends on them, and they depend on her. I think she fights better for having them around. They boost morale when she's low. She doesn't need them physically, but mentally I believe they're vital."  
  
Travers waved his hand in the air irritably. "Yes, yes, Mr Fletcher. You're here to report on your mission, not on a renegade Slayer. You made contact with her."  
  
"I told her why I was there. She had no idea An ." Mike faltered, and pulled himself together with an effort, "that Angelus had lost his soul. That first night we had no sighting of the targets, and I slept at Mr Giles's. On the second night I ran into the Breton at a local nightspot. It's a common place for vampires."  
  
Someone leant forwards, eager. "What's the Breton like?"  
  
Closing his eyes, Mike paused before answering. "Cold. Calm. Nothing rattles him. He's utterly confident. He's proud of himself for bringing Angelus back," this time Mike got the name out first time. "Extremely deadly."  
  
"And physically?"  
  
"Long dark hair, grey eyes, slim, looks very young," Mike said. "Good- looking, I suppose. He has a slight French accent. I recognised him instantly." He ran through that first conversation for the Council, and then told them about the next night. "And I woke up later on, at the place they used as a base."  
  
The Watchers exchanged glances, and finally one of the younger men, fiddling with a pen, spoke. "This is when you sustained your injuries, Mr Fletcher?"  
  
Mike raised his head, letting them see the fading bruises. "What do you think happened?" he asked, and they all looked at each other again.  
  
"Well . I suppose some violence," the Watcher suggested. "It can't have been easy. Did you get bitten?"  
  
"That's the impression you have of them, isn't it?" Mike returned bitterly. "Mindless monsters. This despite all the literature you have on them."  
  
Travers let out a short, patronising laugh. "They are - or should I say were? - monsters, Mr Fletcher. Nothing more, nothing less. Soulless demons."  
  
"Then," said Mike, glaring at Travers as best he could from behind his black eye, "explain why A . why Angelus never once let his demon face show. Why the Breton gave me water. In no way was it simple violence. He wanted information, and he wanted fun."  
  
"And he got both, evidently," Travers said. "All right. Then what happened?"  
  
Mike told them, as briefly as he could, and the Watchers took notes and nodded at each other sagely. He finished the tale with a description of the explosion, and let out a relieved sigh.  
  
"A few questions. Mr Fletcher," the slight grey-haired lady said, holding her pen at the ready. "Do you think the files on these vampires painted an accurate picture of them?"  
  
Mike considered the question. "No," he said finally. "No, I don't. You see, the files listed their . crimes? Deeds? Acts? Whatever you want to call them, they were portrayed as careless. But they planned. Everything was planned, meticulously. Haven't you realised that yet?"  
  
The lady Watcher frowned at him, reminding Mike of his great-aunt in some ways. "And you firmly believe that these friends help the Slayer, and say that she has not abandoned her calling?"  
  
Mike felt like saying that Buffy Summers was far more dedicated to her calling than most, if not all, of the Council, but forbore and contented himself with, "The friends are an enormous help and there is no doubt that the Slayer is extremely active."  
  
More scratching of pens. "And Rupert Giles?"  
  
Smiling, Mike let the image of Giles's intelligent eyes drift into his mind. "He doesn't like the Council. But he'd give his life for Miss Summers."  
  
At the other end of the table, Quentin Travers looked severely displeased by this. "Thank you, Mr Fletcher. I think that's all we need for now. Someone will help you back to your room. I'll let you know when we need you next."  
  
A young Watcher helped Mike up and they made their way silently back to his room. Alone, Mike lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. 


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The four vampires stood around the boxes. Luc said, "Really, it's the easiest way."  
  
"I long for the old ships," Darla muttered.  
  
"Ships are too slow," Angelus said. "I still think we could chance the comfortable part of a plane - delicious stewardesses, I've heard."  
  
"But none of us have passports," Luc pointed out, repeating an old argument. "We line these with some blankets, a pillow, et voilà. Quick, comfortable, no papers."  
  
"Who bleedin' cares?" Spike asked, grinding a cigarette beneath his heel. "So long as Luc's people won't open the boxes and fry us."  
  
"They won't," Luc reassured him. "They never have before."  
  
"Obviously," Darla said. "Or you wouldn't be here now."  
  
* * *  
  
Luc spent the long journey dozing and reading a particularly bloody crime novel, a torch providing most of the illumination and his night-vision supplying the rest. The hum of the aeroplane's engines was soothing, and when he put the book down to relax he dreamed of plans for the Council and their agent Fletcher.  
  
When the plane landed there were minutes of silence until Luc's box was lifted, and he felt it being put on a trolley. A few bumps, and then stillness.  
  
"These are yours." A man's voice, bored. "Just sign here. Need help putting them in that van?"  
  
A pen scratched. "No, we'll manage." Luc recognised the voice, belonging to one of his British contacts. His box was lifted and put down again: a few thuds indicated the safe delivery of the others, and the van set off.  
  
It was about an hour before they arrived at their destination - more lifting, some grunts as Luc's box was manoeuvred through a door - and then clattering as the lid was levered off. Fluorescent light shone down and Luc blinked before sitting up.  
  
"Welcome to London, Mr Tarpeau." Luc's contact, a young vampire of about fifty, was smiling nervously. "I hope the journey was all right?"  
  
"Ça va." Luc got to his feet and climbed out of the box, stretching. "No problems with the papers, Charlie?"  
  
Charlie shook his head. "No, sir. Trevor here helped." He indicated a young man in a suit who looked distinctly nervous. Luc shot him his most charming smile.  
  
"Then my thanks goes to you, Trevor," he said. Trevor nodded, his face pale.  
  
"Human," Charlie confided softly.  
  
Luc grinned. "Let's get the others out," he said.  
  
They got the lids off quickly. Spike was yawning as he got up; Darla and Angelus seemed more alert. Darla breathed in and smiled. "England."  
  
"Home sweet home," Spike said, pulling out his cigarettes and throwing himself into a chair.  
  
"Charlie," said Luc. "Darla, Angelus, Spike."  
  
Charlie grinned nervously. "Honoured," he said. "I've heard all about you."  
  
"But of course you have," Darla said condescendingly. Angelus smiled his lopsided smile and turned to Trevor.  
  
"And you are?" he asked, stepping close to the human.  
  
"Trevor McGowan," said Trevor, taking a step back. "I, erm, do stuff for Charlie. Daytime stuff, you know. He knew my dad."  
  
Charlie nodded. "I ate his dad," he explained. Angelus laughed.  
  
"And there was what, an agreement he'd not eat you?" he questioned. Trevor backed away even more and came up against the wall. Angelus glanced at Charlie. "Find a new daylight help, I'm hungry."  
  
The man opened his mouth to scream but Angelus already had him pinned and had bitten down. The others watched, Luc leaning against the wall smiling slightly. Charlie turned to him, aghast, but Luc shrugged dispassionately.  
  
"But, sir ." Charlie stammered.  
  
Luc patted the English vampire on the back. "Don't argue, Charlie, mon ami. I don't want to have to find a new contact also."  
  
Charlie stuck his hands in his pockets.  
  
"Get used to it," said Spike languidly. Angelus dropped the drained body on the floor.  
  
"Spike's right. Get used to it, and get rid of that. Is this the place we're staying in?"  
  
"Y . yes," Charlie said. "We're in Belgrave Square, close to Victoria. It's handy for the Tube, you know."  
  
Angelus nodded, satisfied. "Belgrave Square. Good. And the staff? If we're planning on staying here we should do it in style. Sunnydale is one thing, London is quite another."  
  
"Staff?" Charlie blinked.  
  
"It's the old way," Luc explained. "If it comes to a dispute, over territory or the like, someone to do the fighting for us. To hunt, if we can't be bothered. I know you know some people, Charlie. Bring them here."  
  
Charlie looked from Luc to Angelus and then to Darla, who was sitting picking at her nails idly. "But . things don't really work that way here," he said, evidently bemused. "I mean, some of us do odd jobs for those such as yourself, sir. If the money's good. Otherwise we all just - get along, like."  
  
Angelus laughed. "What a crazy world. In Sunnydale, even LA, the traditions are still respected. Minions and all. But back in the old world they're all forgotten. Well, there'll be no more getting along. Spread the word. It's get along with me and mine or discover that immortality can be ended, like that." He snapped his fingers in Charlie's face. "Clear?"  
  
Charlie nodded quickly. "Absolutely. Sir."  
  
Darla looked up from her nails. "Where's the best place to publicise these days?"  
  
"Bar in Soho," said Charlie. "Under the Golden Lotus, a Chinese restaurant. The only really safe place, I reckon. Council have got wind of all the others, ma'am."  
  
"Then," said Darla in satisfaction, "we shall go there tonight, shan't we, my darling?"  
  
Angelus smiled back at her and kissed the side of her neck. "Why not?" He turned back to Charlie. "Now get rid of this thing," he kicked the body of Trevor, "and give us some peace."  
  
"I'll call you when we need you," Luc added.  
  
Charlie managed a brief bow before heaving Trevor on to his shoulders and hurrying out.  
  
"Idiot," remarked Spike.  
  
"He is discreet and I trust him," Luc said mildly. "Who ever chose a minion for their intelligence?"  
  
"You could say I did," Angelus pointed out, gazing out of the window, "when I chose you, mon garcon."  
  
"I was human then," Luc returned. "I wasn't a minion, was I, Sire?"  
  
Shaking his head, Angelus turned away from the window. "No. Now, first impressions count, tonight. Where are the clothes?"  
  
An hour later the four of them exited the underground at Piccadilly Circus, only Spike still in jeans and a t-shirt. Down a dark and relatively secluded side-street in Soho they found a group of drunks, and drank themselves, before finding the Golden Lotus restaurant and the discreet entrance to the cellar bar beneath.  
  
It turned out that the bar was busy, full of assorted demons of the obvious and not-so-obvious sort. Spike went straight to the bar, his platinum hair shining amongst the different skin and hair colours of the demons around him. Luc found an empty table for himself, Darla and Angelus, and went to fetch whisky and champagne for Darla, who said she felt like celebrating. The bartender, a round, mild-looking Kaati demon, served and said nothing. But another vampire looked hard at Luc and his gaze followed the Breton back to the table.  
  
Luc slid into his seat with the drinks. "Santé. A Londres."  
  
"To crushing the Council and that Fletcher," Angelus added. "What sort of publicity were you planning, love?"  
  
Darla ran a finger round the edge of her glass. "Let's wait and see what happens."  
  
"It's good to be back here with you," Luc observed. "I've been back once or twice since I left ."  
  
". after that argument?" Angelus said.  
  
Luc nodded. "Whatever happened to that woman - the one you kept? Caroline, or Catherine, or some-such name."  
  
"The whore? Oh, I killed her," Angelus said. "She got boring. I had a last evening of fun, eviscerated her, I think, and left her." Darla raised her eyebrows.  
  
"She wasted your time."  
  
Angelus picked up Darla's hand and kissed it. "Jealous?"  
  
"Of her? Hardly." She seemed about to say something else, but a commotion broke out near the bar just then and they heard a loud, "No you bleedin' don't!" followed by a yelp.  
  
Angelus was on his feet and across the room in a moment, parting the crowd of demons and reaching its centre where Spike had a small, wiry demon in baggy trousers by its scrawny neck.  
  
"You tried to pick my pocket!" Spike snarled.  
  
"I did not!" the demon spat back.  
  
"Will," said Angelus dangerously.  
  
"He tried to take my wallet," Spike repeated. Angelus pulled him off the demon and deftly caught the skinny creature before it ran.  
  
"Oy! Let go! Bloodsucker!" the demon hissed.  
  
"Nobody steals from me or mine," growled Angelus, very low, and twisted the demon's head off. It fell to the ground amid a spurt of black blood, and then it seemed as if all the customers in the bar were shouting at once. Darla and Luc worked their way through the crowd and stood watching with interest.  
  
"And you are?" said the burly vampire which Luc had noticed earlier, pushing his way closer. "New in town?"  
  
"I've been away a while," Angelus agreed.  
  
The bar-demon raised a pair of bushy eyebrows which threatened to obscure his red eyes. "Obviously somewhere where common courtesy doesn't happen. Usually we don't kill each other, and definitely never inside. Any complaints go on the street. Right?"  
  
There was an assenting murmur from the customers.  
  
"But you still haven't answered my question," the burly vampire said. "We don't have territories in London, but we do prefer knowing who else is in town."  
  
Angelus hauled Spike to his feet. "The name's Angelus. From now on, this city belongs to me."  
  
Darla moved to his side, but Luc stayed amongst the crowd. He caught Angelus' eye and grinned.  
  
"I hope nobody's . unhappy . with this situation," Darla added smoothly, glancing around. "Good. There is work for those who want it. 12 Belgrave Square, tomorrow at midnight."  
  
"Work?" the burly vampire snarled. "Why should we want work? Who are you to swan in and take over? I've been here a long time, and I don't remember nothing about an Angelus."  
  
"Then you've not been here long enough," Angelus responded.  
  
"I've lived here all my death!" the other said, stepping closer. Getting on for a century now. And what about these others? Who are they?"  
  
"William the Bloody," Angelus said, indicating Spike.  
  
"With two Slayers to me name," Spike said, grinning.  
  
"And this is Darla, who I believe is four times your age, fledgling."  
  
"I lost count," Darla agreed, smiling sweetly. "Midnight tomorrow. It's in your favour to be there." She linked arms with Angelus and, followed by Spike, they went out. The crowd parted to let them pass as the bar-demon began, resigned, to clean up the mess; and the burly vampire stood with fists clenched and an expression of hatred on his face.  
  
Luc smiled, and slipped out after his family.  
  
--  
  
Author's note: some references back to 'The Breton' in this chapter.  
  
For the geographically inclined, Belgrave Square is a rather nice bit of London close to Hyde Park, about equidistant from Hyde Park Corner and Victoria tube stations. Therefore they took the Piccadilly Line from Hyde Park Corner to Piccadilly Circus to get to the bar. Soho is tucked between Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square, a bustling and fun part of London famed for liberality and fantastic Chinese restaurants and shops. 


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: see prologue.  
  
Chapter 3  
  
The flat smelled musty as Mike followed the trainee Watcher in. The Watcher, a young man named Steven, had said very little during the drive from Headquarters, and Mike found himself grateful for that. Over the past few days it had seemed as if the whole Council was watching him. Only his fellow active agents had treated him semi-normally; everyone else watched as he went by, or stopped him to ask a question or to commiserate over his injuries.  
  
Now he followed Steven into his silent flat and waited as the young Watcher switched on the hall lights. There was a pile of post on the floor, and Steven picked it up. "D'you want to sort this?"  
  
"I suppose I should." Mike led the way into his small sitting room and once the curtains had been opened, sat next to Steven on the sofa and they went through the post. It proved to be mostly bills, with a smattering of junk mail and a couple of letters from friends. "The bills can wait," Mike said, and got Steven to put them away.  
  
They checked the fridge and threw away some dried-up cheese and out-of-date pasta sauce before going through to the bedroom. Mike sat on his bed and directed Steven in packing some more clothes and then weapons, such as his favourite sword which had been left behind when he went to Sunnydale. Nobody could think of a way of getting it through Customs.  
  
Before leaving, Mike checked the flat one last time for things he might need, and then watched Steven close and lock the door again.  
  
The Council doctor gave him a thorough check-up that afternoon, and examined the x-rays from America. "You'll have to go and see an orthopaedic surgeon in a week or so. But those fingers shouldn't take too long to mend. Couple of months and you'll be as fit as ever, though you may have to stick to a crossbow for a while."  
  
Mike grinned ruefully. "Thanks. Can I, er, can I have some more sleeping pills?"  
  
"Having problems getting to sleep?"  
  
"I just can't get comfortable," Mike said easily. The doctor gave him a knowing look.  
  
"Of course not. I'll send some up. More painkillers too?"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
He spent most of the rest of the day listlessly watching bad television in his room, the monotony broken only by the arrival of yet another trainee Watcher with his good. Shortly afterwards he fell asleep into a confused and bloody nightmare which involved being shut in a coffin. Someone was hammering nails into the lid, and Mike screamed.  
  
"Mr Fletcher!" Lights came on, and someone was shaking him. "Mr Fletcher!"  
  
"Get off me!" Mike shouted. "Get off me!"  
  
"Mr Fletcher, it's Steven." Mike opened his eyes and saw the trainee bending over him. "Are you all right?"  
  
He sat up. "God. Sorry. What's the matter? What time is it?"  
  
Steven's face was pale. "Nearly two. You'd better come."  
  
Mike followed Steven downstairs and into one of the meeting rooms, where a circle of people round a table parted to let him in. Mike gulped back a wave of nausea and moved closer.  
  
The body was that of a girl on the cusp of womanhood, her blonde hair loose to the shoulders. Someone had closed her eyes, but this could not disguise the terror on her face. As he came up to the table Mike saw three sets of bite-marks around the girl's neck, a livid cross etched into her right cheek, and something driven through her stomach.  
  
Quentin Travers turned from contemplating the sight. "It's a railway spike," he said. "Did we wake you, Mr Fletcher?"  
  
Mike nodded. "It doesn't matter." He regarded the body a moment longer. "We killed them," he said, softly. "I was there. It was broad daylight, and the place went up like a fireball."  
  
"Could it be a copycat killing?" Travers asked.  
  
Mike tried to shrug, but failed. "I don't know, sir. I don't know if other vampires know about . them. Possibly." He paused. "I'm just an agent, sir, not a Watcher. I know what I've seen, and that's all."  
  
One of the Watchers looked up from measuring the bite-marks, a magnifying glass in one hand and a tape measure in the other. "I'll have to cross- reference," he said, "but I'd hazard male, female, and that one," he pointed, "could go either way."  
  
Travers nodded. "Go and check them." He looked hard at Mike. "Call Sunnydale," he ordered. "I want to know if they could have survived."  
  
Mike took Steven with him to dial the number for him, but the young Watcher left as the dial tone sounded, leaving the speaker turned on. As he waited, Mike calculated the time in California and realised it would be dusk.  
  
"Rupert Giles." The line was crisp and clear. "Hello?"  
  
"Giles. Hi. It's Mike Fletcher."  
  
"Oh." Mike imagined Giles taking off his glasses as he spoke. "Is anything wrong? How are you?"  
  
"Getting better, slowly." Mike gazed across the room at the portrait of some old Watcher. "Yes, we have a problem."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"They're just brought a body in." He described it for his listener, and there was a long moment of silence after he finished. "Giles? Are you still there?"  
  
"I'm here. I take it you know what those . trademarks signify, Mike?"  
  
"The cross is one of Angelus', the spike, Spike's," Mike said. "It was in those files they gave me."  
  
"If it was one without the other," Giles mused, "I'd venture to guess that this would be a coincidence. Both together is more sinister."  
  
"Are we sure the mansion explosion killed them?"  
  
Giles sighed audibly. "No. There seemed little point in checking. What did we expect to find but dust, after all?" He paused. "All right. I - I'll ask Willow to check flights out of Sunnydale and Los Angeles for their descriptions or similar names. Tell that idiot Travers I'll call him when we have something."  
  
"Will you tell Buffy?" Mike asked.  
  
"I shall have to. She won't be pleased."  
  
"Tell her I'm sorry," Mike said. "I'd better go."  
  
"Thank you for ringing," Giles returned. "Goodnight, Mike."  
  
"Night, Giles." He heard the phone go down, far across the Atlantic. From behind him a hand reached out to cut the connection, and he looked round. Quentin Travers was looking grave.  
  
"Mr Giles is looking into it, sir," Mike said.  
  
"So I gathered," Travers replied, and Mike realised he must have been standing listening for a short while. There was a long silence. "You assured me they were dead, Fletcher," Travers said eventually. "Though I did not approve of you involving the Slayer and her little group of hangers- on, nevertheless I was pleased that they were gone. And now, we have this."  
  
"As Giles said," Mike countered, "what would we have been looking for if the ruins had been examined? Dust. I'll wager that they didn't stay around very long - well, they must have flown straight out to be here now, only days after I got back."  
  
"Some effort at least should have been made to verify the deaths," Travers said.  
  
"If they've survived, it's because they outwitted us. Again." Mike stared hard at his superior. "I suggest, sir, that the gates to the grounds are locked and well-guarded, and that nobody goes out unarmed. Until we have a solution."  
  
"You do, do you?" Travers said, eyebrows raised. "What solution do you have to our problem?"  
  
Mike pushed his chair back with his feet and managed to stand up. "We ask Miss Summers to help us out. This time, we send a group of at least ten agents after them, led by the Slayer, and we don't rest until they are dead, dusted fair and square." Travers opened his mouth to speak, but Mike pressed on. "And you let the agents deal with this. No interference from Watchers who spend all their time with their heads in books. If I hadn't disobeyed orders out in Sunnydale, sir, and had relied on those files, I'd have been brought back in a box."  
  
Quentin Travers looked down at the floor and then back up at Mike. "Indeed. Well, it's not your decision. However, I suggest you come back and listen to what the books have to say about those bites."  
  
He turned and began to walk out of the room. Mike gritted his teeth, and, after a moment, followed.  
  
The books were laid out on the table by the body, and the room temperature had been turned down. Only a few Watchers were left now, bent over the girl and a few belongings spread out next to her. The Watcher with the tape measure was writing something down on a piece of paper, and Travers went straight across to him.  
  
"Well?"  
  
The Watcher looked up. "Mr Travers. I've dug out books and diaries from the nineteenth century, and I think the results are fairly conclusive." He glanced at his notes, and then pointed with the pencil at the largest of the three bites on the girl's neck. "That one is consistent in size with marks on bodies which we attributed definitely to Angelus. The smallest of the two seems to match Darla, although it could also belong to a certain Ingrid, a German vampire who was dusted by a Slayer in the early days of Nazi Germany."  
  
"If she was dusted, surely that means it isn't her bite?" Mike questioned.  
  
The Watcher frowned. "In theory, yes."  
  
Mike shook his head, and found a chair.  
  
"And the third one?" Travers was bending over the body with as much clinical interest as the other Watcher.  
  
"Ah, the other one. Well, working on the Darla and Angelus angle, and the reports of Mr Fletcher, I looked up the Breton, and it could indeed be him." The Watcher wrote something down. "I wondered if we could start trying DNA analysis on these sorts of things in the future. It would be a much more accurate means of identification."  
  
"How about the spike?"  
  
"Andrei's dealing with that," the Watcher said, indicating another man examining the wound in the stomach.  
  
Andrei nodded. "Mr Travers, sir. Yes, it seems as if this is a standard spike found on any British railway line. Used for repair work. The wound is actually post-mortem."  
  
"She was dead when that thing was stuck in her?" Mike asked, to make sure.  
  
"That is correct."  
  
"Damn!" Mike said, rather too loudly, and receiving several disapprovingly glances. Travers frowned at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I did explain about that Army chip which Spike has in his head, didn't I?" Mike said. "He can't harm human beings. Why else put that thing in after she was dead? Too many things match up here."  
  
On cue, someone came hurrying across the room with the telephone. "Mr Travers, it's for you."  
  
Travers, still frowning, took the phone. "Hello, Travers speaking." His frown deepened. "Rupert. He's just here." He held the phone to Mike's ear.  
  
"Giles."  
  
"Bad news, Mike," Giles said, his voice fraught. "Willow's found a record of four large packing cases being ordered and delivered first to an address in Sunnydale and then to Los Angeles, to be put on a flight for London. Only a day after you left us. Buffy and Riley have taken a torch and gone to check the mansion."  
  
"Bad news from this end, too," Mike said, and told him. Giles was silent for a moment.  
  
"I'd just got used to the idea he - they - were dead," he said. "Right. Well, Buffy and I will be with you within twenty-four hours. Tell Travers for me. And for God's sake be careful."  
  
"Thanks," Mike said, feeling relief flood over him. "See you soon, then. Bye."  
  
He nodded at Travers, who took the phone away. "See him soon?"  
  
"Mr Giles and Miss Summers are flying out as soon as they can," Mike explained, feeling a strange urge to grin at Travers's expression. "And, sir, with respect, you'll need them." 


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Chapter 4  
  
"Package delivered, sir." Charlie sounded pleased with himself, Luc thought.  
  
"Well done. Hurry up and return to us, then."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Luc cut off the connection with a smile. "They've done it."  
  
Angelus, reclining in an armchair with one leg flung over an arm, nodded. "Good. I wonder how long it'll take them to work it out."  
  
Luc tucked his phone away in his breast pocket, and shrugged. "Not long, I would guess. Whatever else one can say about our monsieur Fletcher, he was not stupid."  
  
"He wasn't clever enough, though," Angelus said. "Not to escape alone."  
  
"That," said Luc, "would be a very clever person. Escaping with help is one thing. Escaping alone, from you - quite another."  
  
"Flatterer."  
  
Luc grinned. "You know it, sire. What's the next stage of the plan?"  
  
His sire stood up, easily, and crossed to the window. "Next stage is we go after Fletcher's nearest and dearest."  
  
"Alors," Luc said, "first we need to find where they are. Lucky we kept those cards of his. I have the address of his apartment."  
  
"Then we go into the apartment." Angelus tapped his fingers on the windowsill. "We'll send those demons who turned up for Darla's recruitment session in, and they can bring us an address book."  
  
"Perfect," Luc agreed. "Isn't this like old times? Remember those soirées we used to go to, planning the death of some pretty woman?"  
  
"The Council is far more than a pretty woman," Angelus said, coming and sitting again next to Luc. "The Council . ah, it's the biggest prize of the lot. Nobody has ever managed to really put them in their place. They're an arrogant lot, just asking to be smashed." He put his arm round Luc's shoulders. "But together, Luc, I think you and I and Darla could do it."  
  
Luc leant into the arm and sighed. "Mmm. Wouldn't you say, though, sire, that getting the better of someone with a little courage is more satisfying? Quelqu'un comme ce Fletcher? He was foolish, but he was brave."  
  
Angelus smiled, and shook his head. "Oh, my Luc. Admiration of a human will get you nowhere."  
  
"Au contraire," Luc said, "it means I wish to smash him down harder. Let's call those demons up, shall we, and send them to pretend to be burglars."  
  
The demons seemed only too happy to be asked to break into Mike Fletcher's apartment, and hurried off with crowbars and balaclavas and instructions to find an address book. Luc had had to repeat the instruction several times, and finally he wrote it down and gave it to the most intelligent-looking of the group with a sigh and a shake of his head. Angelus had disappeared to find Darla, and Luc, checking the clock and discovering there were a good two hours of darkness left, pulled on a coat and wandered out for a walk.  
  
He went north and walked along the edge of Hyde Park for a little while before he glanced around, ensuring nobody was there to see him, and vaulted neatly over the wall into the silent park. The moon and the orange streetlamps sent an ethereal glow on to the trees and the immaculate lawns, and Luc put his hands in his pockets and hummed a tune to himself as he strolled along in the direction of the Serpentine. Empty boats bobbed by the shores of the lake, awaiting daytime tourists, and the wind rippled the surface of the water. Luc decided to walk round, over the bridge at the far end of the water, and back past the swimming clubhouse. All around him was silent, save for the hum of traffic through Kensington, and he was swiftly over the bridge and walking back towards Hyde Park Corner. He had passed the clubhouse and was back alongside the water when he heard the footsteps; the brisk, measured pace of someone in boots confident of what they are doing.  
  
Luc paused, and listened again. Two pairs of footsteps, in fact, men talking to each other in low voices. Looking ahead, Luc thought he could see the glow of a torch, and he realised now that there were two policemen, or maybe security guards, patrolling the park for intruders or tramps sleeping rough. He smiled, and set off again towards them.  
  
As he got closer to the pair his guess was verified - two men in dark uniforms, one with a torch, both with radios. He kept walking, hands still in pockets, and they did not see him until he was a matter of paces from them.  
  
The torch beam hit Luc's face, and he blinked before his eyes could adjust to the sudden light.  
  
"You there!" said the security guard with the torch. "This is private property and you're not allowed in after the gates shut."  
  
"I beg your pardon," Luc said, taking his hands from his pockets and showing they were empty. He found himself wanting to smile at the security guards' easy confidence in their powers to evict him from the park.  
  
"C'mon, now," the other guard said. "If you just come along with us quiet- like we'll let you out and no harm done, this once. How d'you get in, anyway?"  
  
"Ah, he'll have stayed behind when the gates shut," his companion interjected. "Like they all do."  
  
"Actually," Luc said calmly, "I jumped the fence."  
  
The security guards exchanged glances. Luc took his chance, landing a slicing cut on the side of one guard's neck to render him unconscious, even as he let the demon take control to go for the jugular of the other man. He found he was suddenly ravenous, and the blood slipped down easily. With the first guard dead, he bent and picked up the unconscious man and drank more slowly.  
  
Sated, he regarded the two bodies on the ground and then looked sideways at the lake close by. A grin stretched across his face, and Luc picked up first one guard and then the other and threw each body as far as he could into the water. They sank, weighed down by heavy uniforms. Luc sent the dropped torch after the guards and then straightened his clothes, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his lips, once more human in appearance, and began to stroll away.  
  
Back at the house he found Spike alone in the sitting room, his booted feet up on a table, a cigarette in his mouth and a half-empty bottle of whisky in his hand. The younger vampire started to move his feet until he realised it was Luc who had entered the room, and as the Breton went to take an armchair opposite he put them back on the table.  
  
"It's you."  
  
"C'est moi," Luc agreed, lying back and closing his eyes.  
  
"Had a good night?"  
  
"Not bad," said Luc, and described it for Spike. "You?"  
  
"I want this chip out of my skull," Spike said. "I'm sick of not being able to kill anything. And the old man says I can't kill demons randomly, got to be a reason."  
  
"You're not playing with the Slayer any longer," Luc pointed out. "Maybe we could persuade one of the Council to take out the chip for you. It does seem a shame to have it in. I'm missing our hunts together."  
  
"Like in Chicago?" Spike asked. "Yeah, they were good." He blew smoke out of his mouth. "Wonder what Dru's doing at the moment?"  
  
Luc opened his eyes. "La belle Drusilla. I haven't seen her since Chicago either. Did you . tu sais, split up?"  
  
"She left me," Spike said curtly. "For a Chaos demon."  
  
"Aie!" said Luc, sympathetically. "Nasty."  
  
"Yeah, well," Spike returned, "these things happen, don't they? And before you ask, Luc, I do miss her."  
  
Luc held out a hand for the whisky and, after a moment, Spike passed it. Uncorking the bottle, Luc swallowed a mouthful and passed it back. "Did those demons get back, do you know?"  
  
Spike put the bottle on the table. "What, the ones you sent off to play at burglars?" He waved a hand towards the sideboard. "Angelus left you a note."  
  
"So he's back too?" Luc stood up to find the note.  
  
"With Darla. Don't interrupt."  
  
Unfolding the piece of paper on the sideboard, Luc grinned. "I wouldn't dream of it. What does this say then?"  
  
He scanned the few lines of copperplate writing and his grin got wider. "Mais c'est parfait! Now this, Will, this you have to admit is inspired."  
  
Spike took the note and read it too. He nodded. "Not bad. Could be fun, if I was able to actually inflict pain on anybody."  
  
Luc shook his head sympathetically. "I'll suggest we find a doctor for you, mon cher. You should be allowed to enjoy this séjour as much as the rest of us. A doctor, and then a girl."  
  
"Make her blonde and fiery," Spike said, "and I'd be very happy with that idea."  
  
"Like a certain Slayer?" Luc asked. Spike opened his mouth to contradict him, and then clearly thought better of it.  
  
"Hell. Yeah, like the Slayer. What, you didn't think she was kind of attractive?"  
  
"Elle, c'est la Tueuse," Luc said. "The Slayer, Will. Not usually a girl to chase, unless you want to kill her." He tucked the note inside his pocket. "Besides, hasn't Angelus already had her? Second-hand goods."  
  
"That was the poof version of the old man," Spike answered. "All lovey- dovey. Pa-bleedin'-thetic."  
  
Luc patted the other vampire on the shoulder. "Allez, she's half a world away. Forget her for now; we'll get your chip out and then you can go after her." He yawned. "I suggest you get some sleep. We may need it. Bonne nuit."  
  
"G'night," Spike said, picking up his whisky bottle.  
  
Luc shook his head again, this time in amusement, and went out smiling.  
  
--- Author's note: I'm not actually sure if there are security guards patrolling the Royal Parks, but the gates of Hyde Park are closed at night. Poetic licence, this once. 


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Author's notes: apologies for not translating bits of French in the previous chapter. The main essential translation would be 'Tueuse' which literally means 'Female Killer' (nice, eh?!) but is the word used for 'Slayer' on the French-dubbed versions of BtVS and also in the French BtVS books. So now you know.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
It turned out that due to continued research on the body left outside Headquarters, Quentin Travers was too busy to go to the airport to pick up Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles, and so it fell to Mike to be their welcoming party. Accompanied once again by Steven, he was at Heathrow early and waiting in the arrivals hall. Steven was fidgety and nervous and kept disappearing to walk around the hall, before coming back and standing around for another five minutes, then going off again. Mike waited patiently, running through the facts about the girl which the Council had been able to ascertain.  
  
The Council's liaison with the Metropolitan Police had turned up a missing persons report filed the previous evening - a group of friends had been out celebrating a birthday in a bar, and one of the girls had disappeared with a man. "About twenty," had been his description, "with long dark hair and a nice smile." At closing time she had not returned, and calling her mobile telephone had got no answer. Her friends called the police and filed the report, and now the liaison had come to Headquarters early in the morning, accompanied by one of the group. Her eyes had been grey with lack of sleep, and the identification had been positive. Leonie Cooper, aged nineteen, a student at University College. The friend, emotional and shocked, was able to answer very few of the Council's questions, and had been taken away shortly after the identification.  
  
Mike frowned as he thought about it. To his mind the act made very little sense. The Council were more interested in the academic side of the case, the potential for research, and although Travers had agreed to the lockdown of Headquarters during night hours, Mike thought his lack of concern telling.  
  
The tannoy system interrupted his thoughts as it announced the arrival of Buffy and Giles's flight from Los Angeles, and Steven came hurrying back from his latest walk around the hall.  
  
They had another fifteen minutes of waiting before the first passengers began to emerge from Customs, and it was several more before Mike spied the small blonde head.  
  
"Buffy!" he called, and she heard him and smiled broadly. Steven hopped from foot to foot.  
  
Pushing their way through the crowds, the Slayer and her Watcher, both carrying a suitcase, came up to Mike and Steven.  
  
"Hey!" said Buffy, cheerfully. She dropped her case and gave Mike a careful hug. "How're the arms?"  
  
"Not much different," Mike replied. "Giles."  
  
"Good to see you again," Giles said, his brow creased with worry.  
  
"This is Steven Platt," Mike introduced his companion. "He's a trainee. Steven, Rupert Giles, Buffy Summers."  
  
Steven shook hands with them both, his face red. "Honoured," he managed to stammer out, and Buffy gave Mike a look. Mike returned it with a smile. "Can I carry your case, Miss Summers?" Steven said, and Buffy grinned.  
  
"Carry Giles's. No, honestly, I'm fine," she added, as Steven began to protest.  
  
"Slayer strength," Mike reminded his companion, and the young Watcher blushed bright red and picked up Giles's case without another word. They set off towards the car park. "How was the flight?" Mike asked.  
  
"Long," said Giles.  
  
"Good film though," Buffy said.  
  
"What about the ... I mean, how are things at Headquarters?" Giles questioned, cleaning his glasses as they walked.  
  
"Not wonderful," Mike said, and updated them. "The Breton obviously picked her up."  
  
"I can't believe Spike's doing this!" Buffy exclaimed. "Well, I guess I can, 'cos of him being a vampire and all, but still I can't. He's been all right recently."  
  
"Buffy, I warned you about Spike even when he was staying with me," Giles said gently. "He might have a chip, but he's still a vampire - and blood- ties go deep with them."  
  
"He helped me, last time," Buffy objected. "He was useful. And he's killed things for me."  
  
"He's William the Bloody," said Giles, as they got into a lift. "He's killed two Slayers."  
  
Buffy nodded. "Yeah, I know. This sucks."  
  
"It's pretty bad," Mike agreed. They subsided into silence, Buffy twiddling a lock of hair around her finger. Mike was reminded again how fragile and young she looked, and wondered what Steven was thinking. The trainee Watcher looked more awestruck than anything else, and as the lift doors opened, he stood back to allow the others to pass first. Mike hung back and murmured, "They're normal people, Steven. Nothing to be scared of."  
  
"She's the Slayer!" Steven said. "The Slayer!"  
  
"With Slayer hearing," Buffy said, turning round. "Mike's right, y'know. Just me. Nothing to be scared of."  
  
Steven nodded, his cheeks flushing red again.  
  
In the car Buffy sat looking out of the window with interest; interest which got keener as they drew closer to Headquarters. She seemed disappointed they did not have to go through central London in order to get there, but Mike assured her they would have to do so at some point, and she cheered up again. Giles, meanwhile, said nothing.  
  
At the gates Steven showed his pass and the security guard on duty let them through. Buffy squeaked when the house came into view. "It's huge! And old! Giles, you never said!"  
  
"Was there ever any need to say?" Giles questioned. "I hate the place."  
  
The car drew to a halt, and Buffy jumped out and stood with her hands on her hips looking up at Headquarters. "Well, I love it."  
  
"Shame about the people inside," said Giles under his breath. Mike gave him a sympathetic grin.  
  
"If it's any help, I'm on your side here, Giles."  
  
"It may help," Giles said.  
  
"I'll deliver your bags to your room," Steven said.  
  
"Thanks," Buffy said.  
  
"It's my pleasure, Miss Summers," the trainee replied, blushing yet again. Buffy favoured him with a smile and he hurried away.  
  
"I think you've got Steven on your side too," Mike observed, laughing, and thinking how good it felt to laugh. Buffy shook her head.  
  
"Guys. Honestly. Though I do like the accent."  
  
"You're the one with the accent here," Giles pointed out. "Come on, then, let's face the music."  
  
With a crunch of gravel Steven drove the car away to park it in the garages behind the house, and Mike led the way inside.  
  
Buffy's eyes opened even wider at the sight of the entrance hall with its high ceiling and imposing staircase, and she turned around on the spot to view it properly. Giles put his hands in his pockets in a resigned manner. Setting off towards the room set aside for research, Mike said, "This way."  
  
Slowly Buffy followed him, her eyes darting around looking at the portraits on the walls. "Are these all old Watchers?" she asked.  
  
"Mostly," Giles said. "People like Travers, and a few of Watchers who actually went to look after Slayers."  
  
Her forehead creased. "And are there any of the Slayers?"  
  
"No," Mike answered. "I'm afraid not."  
  
"That," said Buffy, "isn't right."  
  
Giles pushed open the door of the research room for them, and Mike led the way in. As they entered, the murmur of talk stopped entirely, and the eyes of every Watcher in the room went to Buffy.  
  
Quentin Travers detached himself from a group bent over a table and crossed to them. "Welcome to Headquarters, Miss Summers, Mr Giles."  
  
Buffy had become stiff and formal now they were inside the room. "I'm here to deal with the problem," she said briefly. "So give."  
  
Mike looked at the floor to avoid laughing at Travers's face. Travers himself sniffed disapprovingly. "I imagine Mr Fletcher has already filled you in on our progress to date. In fact I am firmly confident we could solve this without you, Miss Summers ..."  
  
"Rubbish!" said Giles, cutting in. "You haven't a hope in hell of solving it without her. Didn't you listen to anything Mr Fletcher told you?"  
  
"We listened and we judged, thank you, Mr Giles," Travers said stiffly. "First, in fact, I have some news for Mr Fletcher."  
  
Looking up, Mike said, "What?" A sudden foreboding washed over him.  
  
"Your apartment was broken into last night." Travers gestured a policeman forwards. "This is Michael Fletcher, Constable."  
  
"Constable Singh," the policeman introduced himself. "One of your neighbours alerted us, Mr Fletcher. The apartment's a mess and the door was broken down. We can't tell if anything was taken."  
  
"There was nothing to take, really," Mike said. "I mean, I had a television, and a radio, but nothing else of any value." His mind was running over anything he had of possible worth to the vampires.  
  
"The television has gone, then," the policeman said. "We're fairly certain it's just a common case of theft. If you have time, you'd be best going over to check things out. Call if there's anything else missing." He held up a card, and Giles helpfully took it for Mike.  
  
"Thanks," Mike said, vaguely. Constable Singh nodded and disappeared, with a brief word to Travers first.  
  
"You can go over there later this afternoon if you like," Travers offered. Mike shrugged.  
  
"I don't know, sir. It all depends on whether it's a nasty coincidence or something more ... sinister."  
  
"They'd not have been able to get into your apartment," said Travers. "It has to be the work of humans."  
  
"Or other demons," Buffy suggested.  
  
Travers looked at her askance. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"In Sunnydale," she said, "there was like this chain of command." She indicated with her hands. "Top level, bad-ass vamps like - well, like Angelus." A shadow crossed the Slayer's face. "Then, minion vamps. The sort nobody minded getting rid of. The ones the other vamps used to do their dirty work. And other demons, the sort that sunlight doesn't hurt."  
  
Giles was smiling broadly, Mike saw, a smile full of pride. However Travers looked unconvinced.  
  
"I see. So you think that in a matter of days Angelus could have organised the huge numbers of demons in London into a kind of private army?"  
  
"He could easily have done so," said Giles. "I'd have thought, Travers, that with Mike's testimony and all the volumes and volumes of information you have on these vampires you would have learnt never to underestimate them."  
  
"What about overestimating them?" Travers returned. "I believe that to be just as dangerous."  
  
Buffy, her arms folded across her chest, shook her head. "We're talking about four vampires here, Mr Travers. One who's killed two Slayers, and we should be really glad he has a chip in his head. One who hung with the Master before I killed him. One who just seems to take everything in his stride. And one who nearly sent the world to Hell."  
  
"No thanks to you, Miss Summers," Travers remarked, and Mike saw Giles grit his teeth.  
  
"If it hadn't been for me, nobody would have stopped him," Buffy retorted. "Right. Now let's stop chatting about nothing, and you tell me what's happening here. Someone can take Mike to check out his apartment while I find out what the situation is, and then when he gets back we can form a decent plan of action."  
  
She smiled and walked past Travers towards the groups of researchers, leaving all three men in her wake - Mike and Giles sharing a smile, and Travers open-mouthed and gaping. 


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Chapter 6  
  
"This is it," Charlie said. "Y'know, sir, I hope they're in."  
  
"If they're not in, we'll come back tomorrow," Angelus said. "We have eternity. They do not."  
  
"They don't have long at all," Luc said gleefully. "Now wait here, Charlie, and we'll be out fairly soon."  
  
"Yes, sir. Good luck!"  
  
Luc grinned cheerfully and got out of the car. He waited for Angelus to join him, and together they made their way to the door of the house - a modest semi-detached Edwardian villa, identical to all the others around it. Luc knocked and stood back from the door, his hands folded in front of him.  
  
A slim, pretty woman in faded jeans and a jumper came to the door, wiping her hands on a dishcloth as she did so. Her face bore a welcoming smile, which faded a fraction as she realised she knew neither of the two visitors.  
  
"Mrs Hansen?" Luc said. "Good evening. We're sorry to bother you so late."  
  
"Yes, I'm Mrs Hansen," the woman said, folding up the dishcloth. "Can I help?"  
  
"We work with your brother, Mrs Hansen," Angelus replied. Her expression grew anxious.  
  
"Mike? Is he all right? I haven't heard from him in a few weeks - he's so prone to accidents, you know."  
  
"May we come in?" Luc asked; the crucial question. There was a pause, and then Mrs Hansen nodded.  
  
"Yes. Yes, come on in." She stood back and held the door open. "I'm sorry, the place is a mess ..."  
  
The vampires shared a grin and followed her inside the house. Mike Fletcher's sister closed the door. "Do come on into the kitchen."  
  
They did so, finding themselves in a cluttered little room with children's drawings stuck on the walls and notes attached to the fridge. The sink was full of soapy water and a few dirty plates were waiting to be washed.  
  
"So you work with Mike?" Mrs Hansen leaned against the work-surface. "You know, he's never actually explained what it is he does. He's been very vague."  
  
"He works for a body called the Council of Watchers," Luc said. "Not a nice group of people, really."  
  
"That's a funny thing to say about your own organisation," Mrs Hansen said, her tone showing suspicion.  
  
"We were a little economical with the truth outside," Angelus smiled. "It's just as well for us that your brother failed to explain the intricacies of his job - and the fact you really ought never to invite people into your home. Bad idea. Very bad idea." He took a step towards her, and her face darkened.  
  
"I don't think you've ever met my brother."  
  
"Mike Fletcher," Angelus said. "So high. Mmm, we've met him. I broke most of his fingers - might be why you've not heard from him. Difficult to write or call without your hands." Mrs Hansen had gone pale now, and looked as if she was beginning to move. Angelus said, "Luc!" and Luc slipped round behind her, trapping her between the two of them. "Now," Angelus continued smoothly, "I hope you have a phone number for your brother - a work number, perhaps?"  
  
"For emergencies, yes," Mrs Hansen admitted.  
  
"I thought so." He pushed the telephone, sitting on the surface by the oven, towards her. "Call it."  
  
"What should I say?" She squared her shoulders. "In fact, why should I call Mike? Why not the police? Why not my husband? He'll be back from work any moment."  
  
Angelus shook his head. "Because you would be dead and we would be gone long before the police arrive, and your husband holds no fear for us. Trust me on this, Mrs Hansen. Call your brother, and tell him that Angelus is with you."  
  
"Who?"  
  
His hand shot out and dealt her a heavy blow to the cheek. "Not who, me. Angelus. He knows my name."  
  
She stared at him for a moment, and then picked up the phone and dialled, her cheek turning a smarting pink. Luc met Angelus' eyes and smiled. After a moment Mrs Hansen spoke. "Hello. Password - no, I don't have a password. It's important. I need to speak to my brother, Mike Fletcher. I know he works for you." She listened, frowning. "Please, it really is vital. Thank you." She waited, her left arm hugging her waist. "Mike? Mike, is that you? No, I'm not, not really. You're going to think I'm so stupid - these two men turned up and said they worked with you. Yes, I let them in. You want to speak to them?" She held the phone away from her ear. "He wants to talk to you."  
  
Angelus nodded. "Pass me the phone." Mike Fletcher's sister did so. "Mike, wonderful to hear you!" Angelus said. "Your sister is lovely, and so cooperative." He grimaced, and held the phone at a distance from him. "There's really no need to shout. You can't get to us in time to stop anything. My plans are made. Oh? She is? Well, that makes everything a lot more interesting."  
  
Luc raised his eyebrows, and said, "The Slayer?" His sire nodded.  
  
"Ah, Mike ... no, that was Luc. In fact, I think I shall pass you on to him. He's done most of the organising, you know. A brilliant organiser, my boy."  
  
He passed Luc the receiver, the cable trapping Mrs Hansen against the counter.  
  
"Salut!" Luc said cheerfully.  
  
"Okay, give," came Mike Fletcher's voice, clear and angry. "What do I have to do to keep my sister safe?"  
  
"You cannot really do very much, can you?" Luc pointed out reasonably. "They tell me broken bones take several weeks to heal properly, for you humans."  
  
"Damn you!" Mike said. "What do you want?"  
  
"Well now, monsieur Fletcher, why should we tell you what we want?" Luc asked. "Naturellement, we're not especially keen on the Council at the moment, but then I imagine you're not either. Perhaps our wishes are the same?"  
  
"Stop talking in riddles," spat Mike, and Luc shook his head in amusement at the vitriol. In the background he could hear a lot of talking, and a raised voice came through strongly - a female voice. He smiled to himself.  
  
"We're just looking for some amusement," he replied. "Here's the game. You know we're in London. Find us, and the next part of the game will commence. I imagine it will be especially interesting now mademoiselle Summers has flown in to give her aid." Listening, he heard Mike's agitated breathing and then the female voice again, saying, "Right, we're off. Don't worry, Mike."  
  
"We'll find you," Mike said, after a pause. "What we started in Sunnydale, we will finish."  
  
"That remains to be seen," Luc said. "Au revoir, monsieur Fletcher." He put the phone down, leaning over Mrs Hansen to do so. "The Slayer's on her way here," he told Angelus in French. "Although it would be interesting to stay for her I think we had better leave sooner rather than later, sire. This is not the place for battling her."  
  
"I agree." Angelus turned his attention back to Mrs Hansen. "Your brother has bought you this, at least - I was going to take my time and enjoy this evening, but it seems we have to move on. Shame." He grinned, and let the grin morph as his true features came to the fore. Mrs Hansen opened her mouth to scream, but Luc had anticipated this and stopped it with his hand, holding the woman round her neck even as his sire bent in for the kill. It did not take long, and they let the body go.  
  
"Spirited," Luc commented.  
  
Angelus wiped his mouth. "Let's find the girl, shall we, and go before Buffy arrives with her little army?"  
  
Together they moved upstairs, Luc listening for the sound of breathing. He found it, pausing at a door labelled, "Katy's Room". Pushing the door open, he saw a room cluttered with soft toys and lit by a single nightlight. In the bed, a small girl slept with her thumb in her mouth and a pink elephant huddled to her chest. Luc opened the wardrobe and pulled out a few clothes, bundling them into a bag and throwing the bag to his sire, who had entered the room behind him. Carefully, Luc picked up the girl, and they hurried downstairs and out of the door.  
  
Charlie was still waiting in the car as they got in, and he started the engine immediately.  
  
"Drive smoothly," Angelus said as they set off. "Screaming children are not my thing, unless I can actually eat them."  
  
"It does seem a pity we planned to use her," Luc said dreamily, looking down at the girl in his arms. "She looks delicious."  
  
"The plan is the plan, though," Angelus returned. "And so far, it's going wonderfully well. Anyway, I want Darla to see her. She loves children."  
  
They exchanged smiles.  
  
Astonishingly, the little girl did not wake throughout the drive back to Belgrave Square, and they were able to get her inside and into the bed ready for her without mishap. Luc pulled the covers over her and looked down.  
  
"Si mignonne. How our monsieur Fletcher will hate this."  
  
"We've broken his bones, now we'll break his heart," Angelus said. "And in doing so, we'll remind the Council not to underestimate us. Are you going to watch her, Luc?"  
  
"I am, oui."  
  
His sire nodded. "Good. Need anything? Someone to eat?"  
  
"Not now, no," Luc shook his head. "For now, everything is perfect."  
  
Angelus went to the door. "I think I agree," he said. "Everything is perfect." He shot Luc one of his lopsided grins, and vanished. Luc turned his attention back to Mike Fletcher's niece, and settled into his chair.  
  
---  
  
'Si mignonne' = 'so sweet'. 


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Mike paced. Under his feet the wooden floorboards of the library creaked.  
  
Giles watched him from his perch on the edge of a desk. "Buffy will do all she can, Mike."  
  
"She'll be too late," Mike said, turning at the far end of the room and beginning to pace back. "I don't know who I blame more, myself or the Council."  
  
"Blame the Council," Giles returned. "It's not your fault. You did the best you could in horrendously difficult circumstances." He watched Mike for a moment. "Why don't you sit down?"  
  
"Nervous energy. I want to be doing something and I can't."  
  
"We will kill him," Giles said. "Him and the rest of them. I'm not going back to Sunnydale until I see the dust on the floor."  
  
Mike managed a weak smile, but kept pacing. His mind was running riot with bloody images and he kept hearing the mocking voice of Angelus, and the smoother calm one of the Breton.  
  
"They've been gone nearly two hours."  
  
"They'll be back soon," Giles reassured him, and even as he spoke the door of the library opened. Mike stopped pacing and turned to it.  
  
Buffy's face told the whole story, even before she had wrapped her arms around Mike in a sympathetic hug. Behind her one of the Watchers who had gone with her supported a man whose face was streaked with tears.  
  
"Mike?" the newcomer said. "Mike, what happened? What happened to you?"  
  
"Daniel?" Mike returned.  
  
"He got there just after us," Buffy informed Giles in a low voice. "He's Mike's brother-in-law."  
  
"And his wife?" Giles asked. The Slayer climbed on to the table next to him. Giles looked at her. "God."  
  
"I don't understand what happened," Daniel was saying to Mike. "I thought ... I don't know what I thought. That she'd fallen, or something. I mean ... Sophie's always been there. She's so ..."  
  
"Alive," Mike said, dully. "I should have told her, I should have told you."  
  
"You knew - what, how could you know?" his brother-in-law said, moving away and pushing his hair away from his eyes. "You can't have known."  
  
Mike dropped his eyes, his brain raging. "I should have told you what I do, what I did. It might have saved her." He looked up suddenly. "Katie? Was Katie ..."  
  
"Katie wasn't there," Daniel said.  
  
Giles slid off the edge of the table and stood up properly, crossing to the two men. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
Nodding towards Giles, Mike said, "Dan, this is Rupert Giles. Giles, my brother-in-law, Daniel Hansen." He paused. "My niece - she wasn't there, with my ... with Sophie."  
  
"They'll use her as a bargaining tool," Giles said. "Where's that fool Travers? We need to find them, and find them fast."  
  
"A bargaining tool?" Daniel asked. "What do you mean? Who are you talking about?"  
  
Giles took the other man's shoulder and steered him into a seat. "Mr Hansen, I know you've had a terrible shock this evening. It - I know what it's like."  
  
Close by, Buffy studied her hands intently.  
  
"We need to explain some things," Giles continued. "And it might not make much sense. Trust me, please, and we'll try and get your daughter back to you."  
  
"We will get her back," Buffy interjected, her tone that of steel.  
  
Mike came and joined them, taking the seat next to his brother-in-law and listening as Giles began.  
  
"Your wife ... was killed by a vampire." Disbelief flooded Daniel's face. Giles frowned, and carried on. "This place is the Council of Watchers, an ancient organisation set up to combat evil. Such as vampires and other demons. A - and Mike was sent to California by the Council a short while ago to try and kill some fairly notorious vampires. He asked myself and Buffy here to help." Giles paused, waiting for reaction. Getting none, he took a deep breath and continued. "We thought we had succeeded, but against the odds the vampires survived. They came here, after the Council."  
  
"And they think they're getting at the Council by coming through me," Mike murmured.  
  
"It's their best way in," Giles explained. "They cannot attack the building, and you - you're vulnerable, Mike. And he knows your weak spots."  
  
"He?" said Daniel, softly.  
  
"Angelus," Giles replied, his voice bitter. "One of the worst vampires we know of."  
  
"He did this?" Daniel asked. "He ... he killed my Sophie?"  
  
"Yeah." Mike sighed.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Giles said.  
  
"So what about ..." Daniel gestured towards Mike's arms, cradled in slings. "How did that happen?"  
  
Mike looked at Giles for help, feeling more incapable than ever; burning with anger and grief and unable to do anything. Giles sent him a sympathetic smile.  
  
"That was Angelus too."  
  
"I'll explain another time," Mike said, looking towards the doors, through which Quentin Travers had just entered the room. Travers came towards them and stopped a few metres away, shifting his weight from foot to foot.  
  
"I, erm, am very sorry for your loss," he said, and then looked at Daniel. "Who's this?"  
  
"My brother-in-law, Daniel Hansen," Mike said coolly.  
  
Travers nodded. "Right. Well. I suppose they found something in that burglary to tell them where to go?"  
  
"Probably," Mike agreed.  
  
"It's a tragedy, indeed, a tragedy," Travers said. "If there's anything we can do ..."  
  
Giles stood up and faced Travers. "Stop dithering, Travers. Mr Hansen's daughter has disappeared from that house. Angelus has her. A child. Now get your act together and help us find them."  
  
Quentin Travers went very pale and then very red, and his mouth pursed. "Mr Giles, I must remind you I am the head of this Council ..."  
  
"And I must remind you that I don't work for the Council - since you fired me," Giles retorted. "If you don't have any bright ideas about how to find them, get me someone who does. If you can't manage that, bring me a telephone and I shall ask Willow Rosenberg to help us."  
  
Buffy came to stand next to her Watcher. "Are there any bars or anything where demons hang out?"  
  
"Several, yes," Travers said.  
  
"Then get me a car and a couple of guys and we'll go and check them out," Buffy announced. "If Angel ... if Angelus is using hired muscle he has to hire them from somewhere, and bars are good places for that. Find the muscle, find the brains."  
  
"I'm coming too," Mike said, and stopped. Two other voices had spoken with him - Giles, and Daniel. The latter looked determined.  
  
"Neither of you should come," Buffy said. "Mike, you can't fight. Mr Hansen, do you know how to fight?"  
  
"Are we going to fight?" Giles said, unexpectedly. "We need information. I agree it may not be safe for them to come, but - but on the other hand, are you going to ask them to stay here?"  
  
Mike met Giles's eyes and managed a smile. Folding her arms, Buffy faced her Watcher. "I don't want them getting hurt. Any more hurt."  
  
"We'll stay back, out of the way," Mike said. "But I refuse to stay here, Buffy, waiting again, for God knows what news. I can't do it."  
  
Daniel nodded, his face pale. "I need to be doing something," he said. "Every time I stop, I see Sophie's face. Please?"  
  
Buffy sighed, and nodded.  
  
The first bar they came to, directed by a Watcher armed with a crossbow, had loud music blaring from the entrance. The bouncer on the door, a bulky human man, paid no attention as their small group entered. Giles grimaced at the music.  
  
"This is awful."  
  
"Job to do," Buffy shouted over the din, and made her way to the bar. Mike looked around at the clientele, a mixed group of demons and humans. There was an enthusiastic game of table football going on in one corner, two men playing two blue demons amid a crowd of supporters. At the bar, Buffy was leaning over and talking to the barmaid, and after a moment the latter nodded. The music was turned down, and Buffy cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "May I have your attention!"  
  
The chatter died down, and the customers turned to look at her. Not for the first time, Mike reflected how unlikely it was that Buffy Summers possessed such strength - strength of body and strength of character. Now she radiated assurance. Daniel fidgeted next to his brother-in-law.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen," Buffy said, her voice carrying over the quieter music, "I'm looking for someone and I hope you guys might be able to help me. It's kind of important."  
  
"What's in it for us?" said a demon with ugly green spots adorning his face.  
  
"Protection," Buffy answered. "You might end up needing it. I'm looking for some vamps. One of them goes by the name of Angelus."  
  
There was a murmur of talk, and one of the humans called out, "Who's asking?"  
  
"The Slayer," Buffy said. "That is, me. We know he's been hiring, and we want to find out where he is. There's no point any of you running off to him and telling him I'm looking, 'cos he knows that. Much better for everyone if someone stands up now and gives me the information."  
  
"You're the Slayer?" a vampire said, disbelievingly. "I heard you were bigger."  
  
"I don't know how that tale started," Buffy said, shaking her head. "Look, either someone tells me now, or you give the Council of Watchers a call. I bet everyone knows the number. Anyone?"  
  
Nobody spoke. A few demons shifted their feet and looked at the floor. Mike shook his head. "They're not going to talk," he said.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Okay then," she said. "No protection. Nice meeting everyone." Shaking her head, she came over to the waiting group. "C'mon."  
  
The customers watched silently until they were out of the door, and as they all climbed back into the car, the music was turned up again.  
  
"Useless!" said Buffy. "And bad, because they're more scared of ... of him, than they are of me. I kicked his ass, back with Acathla."  
  
"Stories like that don't always cross the Atlantic," Giles pointed out. "Maybe we'll have more luck at the next place."  
  
The 'next place' was more like a coffee shop than a bar, and far more sedate than their first stop. However the message from Buffy, and the reaction from the demons, were much the same, and they left feeling distinctly downbeat.  
  
"There's one more place we can try," their accompanying Watcher said. "It's a nasty little bar, a prime spot for gambling and so on."  
  
"Take us there," Buffy instructed, fiddling with her hair.  
  
The third bar was full of smoke, and as they moved through the murk Daniel coughed. "This is horrible."  
  
"About par for the course," Mike observed. "You all right, Dan?"  
  
Daniel raised his eyebrows. "Kind of a stupid question, Mike. Though yeah, I'm doing as well as I could be. More ... well, I feel shell-shocked still. This is unreal."  
  
Mike nodded, sympathetically. "I know what you mean."  
  
Ahead of them Buffy had stopped, looking around her, Giles at her elbow. Her body stiffened, and then she had launched herself across the room at a table of card-players. Giles was swiftly in pursuit, pulling something out of his coat pockets as he ran, and Mike caught a brief bright glimpse of blond hair and then heard a familiar voice, saying, "Bleedin' heck, Slayer!"  
  
"Spike?" he said. Daniel looked at him in confusion, but Mike was hurrying after Buffy and Giles.  
  
The Slayer had the blond vampire in an arm lock, and Giles was snapping a pair of handcuffs on to him as Mike arrived.  
  
"Fancy seeing you here, Buffy," Spike said, twisting his head to look at her. "Now let me go, why don't you?"  
  
"Not a chance," Buffy returned. "I'm out looking for Angel. I guess you know where he is."  
  
"Not telling," Spike retorted. "They've got you well and truly stitched up, Slayer."  
  
"You might not be telling now," Giles said, his voice steely, "but you may be in a while. Back to Headquarters, Buffy?"  
  
"Oh yeah," she said, tugging at her captive.  
  
Spike grinned at Mike. "Fletcher. Nice to see you. How're the arms doing?"  
  
Mike bit his lip and said nothing. Beside him, one of the demons at the card table said, "He owes us fifty quid."  
  
Mike turned, Daniel with him, and hurried out after Buffy. 


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Katie Hansen slept through the night, her thumb in her mouth and her arm resolutely around the pink elephant. Luc spent most of the time watching her and listening to her slow, regular heartbeat, finding it soothing. Close to dawn, Darla appeared with her arm around Angelus' waist, and she smiled down at the little girl.  
  
"Sweet."  
  
"Not for nibbling, love," Angelus said, nibbling at Darla's ear himself. "Not yet, at any rate."  
  
"Mmm." Darla put her head on one side. "Mmm. Are you staying with her, Luc?"  
  
"She'll be nervous when she wakes," Luc said. "I thought I would. You two don't need to stay, if you have ... plans."  
  
"Plans?" Angelus laughed softly. "Oh yes, we have plans."  
  
"Such bloody plans," added Darla. "Come on."  
  
Angelus let her tow him out of the room, leaving Luc with a smile. He turned back to Katie.  
  
She woke up after dawn. Luc had carefully closed the curtains, and was sitting reading quietly. He registered the change in the sound of the girl's breathing before she opened her eyes, and put his book down.  
  
"Mummy?" Katie looked around her, eyes wide. "Mummy?"  
  
"Hush, ma petite," Luc said. She turned her head and looked at him. "Your mother isn't here."  
  
"Mummy!" Katie repeated. "I want her. Where is she? Who are you?"  
  
"Me?" Luc said. "Oh, I am a friend of your uncle Mike's. Your parents have had to go away, for a while, and so I'm looking after you. My name's Luc."  
  
"Luke." She tried it out. "So where's Uncle Mike?"  
  
"Busy, with his work," said Luc. "So you get to stay with me. Are you hungry?"  
  
Katie nodded, her arm tightly around the pink elephant. Luc stood up. "Then let's find you something to eat, non?"  
  
He bent, and scooped her up.  
  
In the kitchen of the house, Luc deposited his burden on the table where she sat, still sucking her thumb. He opened the fridge and saw mostly empty shelves, but there was some butter and some jam. Further investigation in cupboards unearthed a plate and a knife and some bread, which Luc toasted under the grill before spreading the butter and jam on it and presenting the plate to Katie. She ate slowly and carefully while Luc watched, and then licked her fingers and smiled happily.  
  
"That's better."  
  
"Good," Luc said. "Now what would you like to do?"  
  
Katie looked towards the window. "Play outside."  
  
Folding his arms, Luc considered the request. "Come with me, chérie." He lifted her off the table and she followed him through to the living room, where he installed her in front of the television and told her to wait quietly.  
  
Leaving the room, he hurried up two flights of stairs to the second floor, where he pushed open a door. A flood of sunlight hit him, and he moved swiftly backwards.  
  
"How many times do we have to tell you to close the curtains?" he said.  
  
The four demons in the room glanced at each other, and one of them got up and closed the curtains. Luc nodded. "Next time, keep them shut. I need a babysitter."  
  
"A baby?" One of the demons looked up hopefully.  
  
Luc sighed. "Not one you can eat, imbécile. Even if she were expendable, which, for the moment, is not the case, you would not get her. No - we have a hostage, a little girl, and she would like to spend some time outside. I would like some sleep."  
  
"I'll come, sir." A demon stood up, pulling a sweater on over his t-shirt, and a hat over his large floppy ears.  
  
Turning, Luc led the way out of the room, and back upstairs. "Katie."  
  
The girl looked round from her position on the sofa. "It's Bugs Bunny," she said.  
  
The demon felt his hat and looked off-put.  
  
"On the television," Luc explained. "Katie, Al here will take you outside."  
  
"Can't you come?" she asked.  
  
"I don't really like going outside," Luc said. "Not during the day. You know when the sun's too strong?"  
  
"I go red, unless Mummy puts cream on," she agreed.  
  
"Exactement. Alors, when I go outside I burn very badly. So Al will look after you and play with you. Until she's bored," he added, for the demon. "Remember I can check on you from the window, so I suggest you remain in the garden and don't try going anywhere else. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir!" Al said smartly. "Come along, little 'un."  
  
Katie slid off the sofa and seemed content to take Al's wrinkly hand, and they disappeared. Luc sighed, and turned off the television.  
  
He managed to sleep for a while, despite lingering outside Angelus' door for a long moment on the way to his own room. He was woken a few hours' later by a crash from downstairs that sounded like something heavy being broken. Jumping out of bed, Luc threw on his robe and was downstairs in a flash.  
  
In the living room he found that the solid mahogany coffee table was in two large pieces with a demon on top of them, and Angelus in full vampire-face reaching out to pull the demon up again.  
  
"What did you say?" his sire snarled. The demon quaked.  
  
"I ... don't kill me ... I ..."  
  
Angelus held the demon with one hand and punched it hard in the face with the other.  
  
"What did you say?" he repeated.  
  
"I was in 'The Cloven Hoof' in Lambeth, last night - sir - and this girl came in. And we were playing cards, blackjack, me and two of my mates, and a blood - a vampire, I mean, who said he was called Spike. Bleached hair. Anyway, this girl came in, American, I reckon, small; and a bloke with glasses with her. And she seized this Spike and they handcuffed him and took him away. He called her ... he called her Slayer."  
  
Angelus let the demon go and it crashed down on to the broken table and lay there whimpering.  
  
"Sire?" Luc said. Angelus spun around, his face slipping back to human as he did so.  
  
"It's you. Spike, the idiot he is, has got himself captured. By Buffy. Idiot!" Angelus lashed out a leg and caught the demon in the gut. The demon whimpered.  
  
"Hmm," Luc said. "That wasn't in our plans."  
  
"It damn well was not," Angelus said, and turned to the demon, who flinched backwards. "Was there anyone else with the Slayer?"  
  
"Two men," the demon said. "One of them had a sling on. The other just looked kind of grey, you know?"  
  
"The husband," Luc said.  
  
"Grief," Angelus said. "Such a wonderful emotion." He hauled the demon up again.  
  
"The thing is," said the demon, stuttering a little, "was that the ... well, your Spike, he owed us fifty quid when he got carted off. I was wondering if ... if you could pay it."  
  
"You were, were you?" Angelus said, smiling. The demon returned the smile in a nervous way.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I was."  
  
"How charmingly naïve," murmured Angelus. "Spend one and a half centuries building up a rep, get the nickname to be proud of, and then a mere hundred years off the game and everyone forgets you."  
  
"So, fifty quid then?" the demon repeated hopefully.  
  
Luc ducked out of the room and found a sword in the umbrella rack by the front door. Back in the living room, he coughed.  
  
"Sire. Tu veux que je le tue?"  
  
"No, let me," Angelus said in English, and Luc threw him the sword. His sire turned back to the demon. "Thank you for the information." He smiled, and ran the sword through the demon. It looked aghast for a second, and then its face went grey, it gurgled, and fell to the floor. Angelus pulled the blade out and wiped it on the demon's jacket.  
  
"So Spike's with the Slayer," Luc said, taking the sword back. "I wonder what they're doing."  
  
"Nothing interesting," Angelus said, sitting down and resting his feet on the dead body. "Buffy doesn't have it in her tiny little body to actually torture anything. Giles, now ... well, old Rupert may, if he's angry enough. And I wouldn't put it past that Fletcher. Only his arms are still useless."  
  
"He was rather a work of art," Luc said, going to sit next to Angelus. "It's a pity you never had a chance to take some photographs, or to sit and sketch him. I used to love your drawings."  
  
"Drawings ..." mused Angelus. "Drawings. Thank you, Luc." He leant over and kissed Luc on the forehead. "You've just given me inspiration. Where's the girl?"  
  
"In the garden," Luc said. "Playing. Shall I get her in?"  
  
"Get someone to clear this out, and then fetch her," Angelus said with a grin. "For now I'm going to keep her alive, but we don't need to make that clear to the Slayer and her cronies. And you're right, I haven't drawn anything for rather too long."  
  
Luc gazed into his sire's eyes for a moment, and then got up to go about Angelus' bidding.  
  
He spent the afternoon in the living room, watching the older vampire concentrate on the drawing as Katie lay asleep on the couch, her face paler than normal and two neat puncture marks in her neck. By the evening the sketch was finished, folded and sealed in an envelope, and addressed simply to 'The Council of Watchers'. Luc summoned Charlie and dispatched him with it, and they settled down again to wait.  
  
---  
  
"Tu veux que je le tue?" = do you want me to kill him? 


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Author's notes: I'm currently juggling this story with a new LOTR one, so updates are becoming rarer. Sorry! However comments are always welcomed. :)  
  
Chapter 9  
  
"What's this, a circus?" Spike, chained securely to a chair, looked around the crowd of Watchers balefully. Buffy stood up from testing the chains and glared at them.  
  
"There's nothing to see, people."  
  
"This, ah, this is the first time a vampire has entered Headquarters itself," someone volunteered. "We're all quite excited."  
  
"It's Spike!" Buffy said, waving an arm. "That's all."  
  
Spike looked put out. "That's not fair, Slayer. I'm William the Bloody, I am."  
  
"Writer of bad poetry," Buffy returned.  
  
"That's not how I got that name!" Spike said. She looked at him, arms folded, and he shrugged as best he could with the chains. "Oh, hell, I told you, didn't I? Yeah, all right, William who wrote bloody awful poetry, that's me - but I'm also the guy who killed two slayers." He grinned at the Watchers. "Celebrity guest, me."  
  
Giles entered the library and crossed to Spike's chair, turning to the crowd. "Right, everyone out. Miss Summers and I have work to do and we would appreciate not having an audience."  
  
The Watchers muttered amongst themselves, but eventually filed out. From his seat in the corner next to Daniel Hansen, Mike breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Buffy picked up a stake and twirled it. "Okay, Spike, talk."  
  
"Talk about what?" Spike said, looking up at her. "Old times, maybe, Slayer?"  
  
"I want to know where Angel is," Buffy said.  
  
"Gone," Spike returned. "Poof! Into the ether. Angelus, now ... he's quite another matter."  
  
"Angel, Angelus," Giles said. "Same vampire. I expect you're aware he has this man's little girl?" He gestured at Daniel. "I expect you know all the plans."  
  
"Not all of them," Spike said. "See, me, I'm the annoying kid in that family. Tolerated and not much more. The old man still thinks of me as Dru's mistake, Darla couldn't care if I was there or not ... I get on all right with Luc."  
  
"So where are they?" demanded Buffy.  
  
"Ain't telling," Spike retorted. "Not worth my while. I'm not going to believe you'll just let me go this time, Slayer, chip or no chip; and I'm not going back there after being held by you." He shivered.  
  
"Why?" asked Buffy.  
  
Spike nodded his head towards Mike. "It's not just humans he tortures, Slayer. In some ways hurting a vamp is more fun. It lasts longer. And he's bloody good at it - right, Rupert?"  
  
Giles turned away, fiddling with his glasses. Biting his lip, Mike stared at the ground between his feet.  
  
"Mike?" Daniel said, softly. "Was that ... I mean ... the arms?"  
  
"They'll heal," Mike returned. "I just don't really want to talk about it. Give me a few years, okay?"  
  
His brother-in-law nodded, and went back to staring at Spike.  
  
"So you won't tell us?" Buffy said. "Giles, can I dust him?"  
  
"No," Giles said, putting his glasses on and turning back to her. "No. They have a hostage, and so do we. Unfortunately I rather think that we care more about their hostage than they do about ours, but for the moment Spike is all we have."  
  
Spike grinned, pleased. "It'll be nice hanging around to watch you all die horribly. All we need is Dru to make it perfect."  
  
"She's not coming, is she?" Buffy asked, her voice showing a little concern.  
  
"Nah. Angelus has Darla and Luc at the moment, he doesn't need anyone else. 'Course, he might get bored, or Luc might take off again, and then he might want Dru."  
  
Giles sat down on the edge of a table close to Spike, and said nonchalantly, "So the Breton has a habit of disappearing, does he?"  
  
"Hell yeah," said Spike, laughing. "Mr Independence, that one. If he's not in the mood to be bossed around, he won't be." He stopped speaking abruptly. "Learnt something about interrogation yourself, didn't you, Rupert?"  
  
"A little," Giles agreed, a glint in his eye.  
  
"Yeah, well, you can stop right there!" Spike said. "I'm not talkin'."  
  
"Then you're not eating either," Buffy said. "No blood. Not until you tell us where Angel is." She caught his look, shrugged, and said, "Angelus."  
  
There was silence. Daniel looked at Mike, and Mike watched Spike. Eventually the vampire nodded.  
  
"Good. Fine by me. I'll starve, and you can all get killed when he comes. Because he will come."  
  
Buffy folded her arms, and walked away. "Great."  
  
Following some unspoken decision, the men followed her out of the room, leaving Spike shackled to his chair. They left the door open and Giles watched their hostage out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"So?" said Buffy. "Any bright ideas?"  
  
"We need to try other avenues," Mike said. "Housing agencies. Where did Angelus live when he was in London before? Do we know?"  
  
Giles looked thoughtful. "We can check the archives. Maybe someone could help us with that. We could at least discover the kind of area he and Darla preferred."  
  
"We need to do something!" Daniel broke in. "My Katie is in the hands of a ... a thing that tortures people. Can't we make him," he pointed into the room where Spike was still sitting, "talk?"  
  
"Like he said," Buffy replied, "he won't. Usually I guess we could persuade him, get him blood or cigarettes or something, but here I get the feeling he just won't talk."  
  
"Vampires," Giles said, "come in many shapes and sizes. Some never get very far - they rise, spend a few years killing at random, and then commit some ridiculous mistake like stepping into the sun. Some receive some wisdom from their sires, and survive for maybe fifty years, maybe a century. And a few are turned by vampires from strong, ancient bloodlines. Remember the Master, Buffy?"  
  
Buffy made a face. "How could I forget him? He killed me! Temporarily," she added, because Daniel was looking confused.  
  
"Yes, well," Giles continued, "I, erm, did some research, and it turns out that Darla's sire was in fact the Master himself. And for many years, she spent time with him. When she in turn made Angelus, they roamed Europe as a couple. The point is, we're not dealing with ordinary vampires here, we're dealing with some of the most dangerous vampires that have ever existed. They're playing a game, but we're playing with our lives. And the lives of those we love. Spike will play the game, because if there's one thing I think he's scared of, it's Angelus."  
  
"I heard that!" Spike called, from the library. Buffy opened the door wider and they all looked at him. "Vampire hearing?" Spike said. "Not deaf here, children. Watcher's right, Slayer. That time I helped you before, I could kill, I could run, and I didn't want the world to end. Now, no danger of the world ending. No Acathla. And he's not alone this time. You went up alone against Angelus before and you nearly bleedin' lost. Go up against Angelus with Darla and Luc behind him, and you will lose."  
  
Buffy walked quickly up to Spike and punched him once, hard, in the nose. The vampire's head went back before he slumped forwards in his chains.  
  
"Research party," said Buffy, putting on a cheerful smile. "Let's get some of those Watchers back in."  
  
Giles tried to persuade Daniel and Mike to get some rest, but they both refused, and so were set a pile of books to rifle through. Glancing at his brother-in-law's tired, grey face, Mike wondered if he looked as bad. Neither of them said anything as they turned pages and skimmed sentences. Around the library, a small group of Watchers had been drafted in by Buffy and told off to read through many other books. She herself was in front of a computer, and from time to time Giles would stop by her, lean down and say something, before moving on to see each Watcher.  
  
They kept going, through the night, and well into the next morning. The Watchers disappeared to be replaced by new ones. At about eleven, Quentin Travers appeared, but disappeared as quickly as he had come. Mike and Daniel kept reading, Mike finding important passages and facts and Daniel writing them down.  
  
By lunchtime they had ascertained that Angelus had always chosen opulent neighbourhoods, and large comfortable houses. One of the Watchers had discovered a picture of the 'hôtel' in Paris where Luc Tarpeau had worked and died, and Mike had stared at it for a long moment before returning to his own book. But records regarding London were strangely absent.  
  
At noon they broke off, and most of the Watchers disappeared to find food. Giles went out and came back with sandwiches and soft drinks, and they ate in silence around the largest of the library tables. Buffy helped Mike eat his sandwich by breaking off chunks and feeding them to him - at any other time Mike thought he would have found the situation hilarious, or possibly wildly erotic, but he had no mood for laughter.  
  
Spike woke up as they were eating, and moaned for a while about being hungry. When Buffy got up with a stake and threatened to punch him again he fell silent, and after lunch they all settled back down to the research.  
  
Daniel finally fell asleep, his head pillowed on Francis Shaw's 'They Who Drink Blood' (published in 1879), in the early evening. Without someone to turn pages for him, Mike could do no more, and so he got up and went to watch Buffy on the computer. The Slayer had a messenger programme running and was evidently working in tandem with Willow Rosenberg in Sunnydale, for messages from the latter popped up every minute or so.  
  
"Any luck?" Mike asked.  
  
Buffy shook her head. "Nope. Willow sends her love."  
  
"Thanks. Send it back, will you?"  
  
She nodded, and typed in, "Mike says hi, sends love," and hit 'send'.  
  
"Thank you for coming, Buffy," he said. "It means a lot."  
  
"It's my job," she returned. "Though I'd have come anyway, out of friendship." She frowned. "Though, if it hadn't been my job, I guess I'd never have met you."  
  
"I know what you mean," Mike said. "Still, thank you."  
  
Buffy smiled, and went back to searching the site she was on.  
  
He watched her for a few minutes, and was about to cross the room to speak to Mike when Travers came in. He looked tidy and refreshed, in stark comparison to the crumpled clothes and red-rimmed eyes of the researchers, and was holding a stiff cream-coloured envelope.  
  
"This just came," he said, handing it to Buffy. "A man - at least we assume it was a man - dropped it at the gate and drove off."  
  
She was holding the envelope carefully by the edges. "Did the guard get the licence plate?"  
  
"The registration number?" Travers said. "No."  
  
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Good guards you got there, Mr Travers." Looking down at the envelope, she turned it over and scrutinised the handwritten address. Her face grew sombre, and Mike felt a shiver of foreboding.  
  
"Him?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah." Buffy looked around, and seeing a dagger on the table by the computer, picked it up and slit the envelope neatly. From his chair Spike watched with interest. The Slayer pulled out the single sheet of paper and opened it up. After a moment, she held it out for Mike. "Is that your niece?"  
  
Mike looked down, and saw a pencil sketch that was as good a likeness of Katie Hansen as any photograph he had seen. She seemed to be asleep, her arm around her favourite pink elephant and her eyes closed. "That's her," he said.  
  
Buffy sighed. "And that's Angel all right. Last time he started the pictures ..."  
  
"... it ended with Jenny," finished Giles, coming over to her. He took the portrait. "May I?" Turning it over, he scrutinised the back. "At last we have our showdown."  
  
"There's a message?" Mike asked.  
  
"'Leicester Square, three am. tonight,'" Giles read. "'Bring Spike. Looking forward to it.' He's just signed it 'A'."  
  
"Finally!" said Buffy. "Some action."  
  
Giles gazed at the picture. "Let's hope it turns out for the best," he said. "Let's hope." 


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Chapter 10  
  
They arrived in Leicester Square early and settled to wait on the benches in the middle. Some night-time revellers were still out, laughing as they wandered past, and Darla went off to find a late snack.  
  
Luc laid Katie, who was fast asleep, down on the bench by his side and glanced across at his sire. Angelus seemed perfectly relaxed, his head back and his eyes closed with a small smile on his face. Watching him, Luc found himself smiling too, and wondering how the evening would turn out.  
  
Buffy and her group from the Council appeared bang on time, even as a nearby clock struck three. The Slayer had Spike by her, his hands bound behind his back, and she was accompanied not only by Giles, Mike Fletcher and his brother-in-law, but by two other tough-looking men who Luc guessed were probably colleagues of Mike's.  
  
The Council members stopped a good distance away from Luc and Angelus, and Buffy called across the gap. "Okay, we're here."  
  
Angelus stood up smoothly, and Luc picked up Katie and came to stand beside his sire. At the sight of the little girl, Daniel Hansen took an impulsive step forwards.  
  
"Katie!" His face grew dark as he looked at the two vampires, and he called, "if you've hurt one hair of her head ..."  
  
Angelus laughed. "You must be Mr Hansen. I don't believe we've met. I'm Angelus."  
  
"I've heard about you," Daniel returned, his voice full of venom mixed with longing for his daughter.  
  
"None of it good, I hope," Angelus said. "Did you like my gift? She was a beautiful woman. Had some fire. I always like that in my food."  
  
Daniel looked as if he were about to move forwards, but Mike hissed, "Don't! Try not to let him get to you."  
  
"Not let him get to me?" Daniel turned his head to Mike. "How can I not?"  
  
"I know." Mike swallowed. "For Katie's sake. Just shut up and let Buffy do her job."  
  
"Mr Fletcher - Mike," said Angelus. "Can I call you Mike? We should, after all, be on first-name terms. How are the arms?"  
  
"I'll be holding a crossbow any day now," Mike said. "The first bolt's for you."  
  
"Hey, Angel," Buffy broke in. "You don't want to talk to them. Talk to me. You'll be pleased to know Spiky here has not breathed a word about your current hiding-place."  
  
"I knew he wouldn't," Angelus said, turning his attention to the Slayer, and taking a step forwards. "Enjoying England, Buff?"  
  
"It's lovely. Just like home, with all you vamps around. How could I go away without seeing you?"  
  
He laughed. "Such devotion. It's kind of poetic. Don't you agree, Luc?"  
  
"Beautiful," Luc agreed. He grinned. "All this way, only to die."  
  
"Look," Spike broke in, "not that I'm anxious to get away or anything here, but a bit of actual negotiation would be nice."  
  
Angelus took another step forwards, and Buffy tightened her hold on Spike. "Not till we have Katie back," she said, teeth gritted. Giles lifted a crossbow, and aimed it at Spike.  
  
"Oh, Rupert," Angelus sighed, with a brief glance at Luc, "you still don't understand me, do you?"  
  
Luc met his sire's eyes, and nodded, before changing the direction of his gaze and smiling at Spike. The blond vampire's own eyes narrowed.  
  
"I know that smile, Luc," he said.  
  
"I rather thought you might," Luc replied. Beside him, Angelus slipped a hand inside his leather jacket. "It was fun, Will," Luc went on, softly. "Chicago, London - it was fun."  
  
"Bleedin' heck," Spike said, and started to struggle. "Slayer, let me go! Slayer ..."  
  
Angelus' hand came out of his jacket holding a crossbow, and the bolt was already winging its way across the space between sire and grandchilde before Buffy registered why her prisoner was suddenly fighting. She let go of Spike at the same moment the bolt hit.  
  
"I'll tell Dru you said goodbye," Angelus commented, watching the dust fly into the air.  
  
Buffy stared aghast at the space where her bargaining chip had been standing. Cradling Katie in his arms, Luc watched the remains of Spike float to the ground, and murmured, "Adieu."  
  
Raising the crossbow once more, Angelus smiled at the Slayer. "Now where do you stand, Buff?"  
  
She pulled a stake out of a pocket. "Well, it helps not to have him to look after. I guess I'll just have to fight you for Katie. Four against two."  
  
"Good odds," Angelus said. "It's been a while. Oh, and I don't think you've ever seen my boy fight, have you?"  
  
Giles, still holding his own crossbow, said slowly, "where's Darla?"  
  
Luc stepped backwards with Katie, and laid her down on a bench, sensing that something was going to happen and it was going to happen soon. Facing him and his sire were six humans, one of them injured. At this point he knew that the little girl had stopped being a part of the equation. Angelus wanted the Slayer, and Luc felt fairly sure he would get her.  
  
He left Katie on her bench and moved forwards again to stand beside Angelus.  
  
"T'es prêt?" his sire asked softly.  
  
"Toujours," Luc replied.  
  
There was another moment of stillness, and then Giles fired his crossbow. Angelus stopped the bolt inches from his chest, throwing it to the ground contemptuously.  
  
The two Council agents, receiving a nod from Buffy, pulled out weapons - one a stake, the other a sword - and attacked.  
  
Luc went sideways to put a space between him and his sire, and met them face on. He had never been one to choose to fight, but long ago, in the small town where he had grown up, scuffles and brawls were common. As one of the smaller boys, Luc had soon learned to defend himself adequately, and he had never forgotten. Over these two burly men he had the advantage of flexibility and agility as well as vampiric strength and speed, and he used his advantages well. The agent with the stake attacked front on, and Luc swung and kicked at the man's wrist to get the weapon out of his way even as he ducked to avoid a sweeping blow of the longsword. A short distance away he knew that his sire had engaged the Slayer, and there was a concentrated barrage of blows coming from their direction.  
  
He rammed the side of his hand into the first agent's neck and the man fell to the ground. Turning, Luc went to defend himself against the second Council worker, but even as he did so a flash of red caught his eye, and he stepped back. His opponent raised the sword with a shout of triumph, and then his eyes rolled back into his head and he toppled over.  
  
Darla stood over the corpse twirling a stake, her eyes shining.  
  
"Okay?" she said.  
  
"Absolutely," Luc said, returning her smile. "Do you want the Watcher or the Slayer?"  
  
"You help Angelus," Darla said, "and I'll deal with the Watcher."  
  
Bending, Luc picked up the discarded sword and weighed it experimentally in his hand before turning and glancing towards the fight between Angelus and Buffy. Both of them were looking somewhat the worse for wear, battered and bruised and bleeding. Luc could sense the powerful tang of Slayer's blood on the air and he breathed in deeply before getting closer and circling around her back.  
  
"You've improved," Buffy panted, landing a kick in Angelus' chest. "You weren't this good in Sunnydale."  
  
"You haven't," Angelus said. "You're looking tired, Buff. Too many years of Slaying - well, I can help you out there. I'd give a lot for another taste of you." He hit her shoulder.  
  
"Maybe if you told your Frenchman to move away from me," Buffy said, "we'd get along better."  
  
"Breton," Luc said, throwing the sword to his sire who caught it neatly, "not French."  
  
Buffy moved backwards out of the range of the sword, keeping Luc in her peripheral vision. "Whatever," she said.  
  
Angelus advanced, the sword held ready to strike. "No witches to help you here, Buffy. No Xander. No Riley."  
  
She kicked out sideways at Luc, and he sidestepped it.  
  
At that moment a scream rang out, and Luc turned in horror to the source. Giles was just bringing his arm back, holding the stake which he had just succeeded in driving into Darla's chest. With an imploring look towards Angelus, Darla disappeared. Giles sank to his knees, breathing heavily.  
  
"You were saying?" Buffy said, turning to Angelus. Luc wrenched his attention back to his sire and the Slayer, and attacked.  
  
The three of them danced around each other, Angelus and Luc moving in alternately to aim blows or kicks at the Slayer. In her turn, she ducked and weaved and punched, her movements fluid but her breath starting to come in short bursts. She was tiring, Luc realised, even as he leaned sideways to miss being drop kicked in the stomach.  
  
And then it happened. Behind him, Luc heard a footstep that was quiet but not quiet enough, and the thudding of a terrified heart. He spun around to the source of the noise.  
  
Mike had watched the fighting with increasing irritation and fear. He had seen the Breton take down his fellow agents - Fratelli and Jenkins, their names were - with horrible ease. As soon as the fighting had started, Daniel had run to his daughter and was sheltering her on the bench. When Darla had arrived, Mike had gritted his teeth and forced himself not to run to Giles's aid, and his relief when his friend had succeeded in staking the vampire had been great. And now, for the last five minutes of agonisingly slow time, he had watched Angelus and his childe darting around Buffy. She had held her own, but Mike could see that slowly but surely she was flagging.  
  
Back at Headquarters, before they had left, Mike had asked Daniel to find him a stake and he had concealed it inside the sling of his left arm, the one which was more flexible than the right. Now he felt for the stake, his shoulder crying out in pain, and gripped it tightly, before slowly and agonisingly pulling his arm out of its sling. Clutching the stake, which seemed now stupidly small, he crept around the edge of the battle, and round, and then in. Angelus' attention was focused on the slim figure of the Slayer, and Mike was almost within striking distance when the Breton turned around.  
  
Mike had no time to think. Even as Luc lunged towards him, he lunged the other way, and plunged the stake into Angelus' back, praying he had got close enough to the heart.  
  
Time stood still.  
  
---  
  
"T'es prêt?" / "Toujours." = "You're ready?" / "Always."  
  
Author's note: Aren't I evil? A cliffhanger.  
  
Actually, the cliffhanger has occurred because I'm too attached to all the characters. Somehow I don't want to kill any of them off - not Buffy or Giles, or Angelus, not Mike, and definitely not Luc. However I think I'm at an impasse here and one of them has to go. So some reader input, if anyone's still reading, would be most welcome - be bloodthirsty. Does Angelus die, or does Buffy? About all that's settled is that Luc won't.  
  
Thank you! 


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Author's note: a shortish chapter, but there will be another one. Thank you to those who offered their opinions on who to get rid of - here you will see the popular vote's decision. And, indeed, thank you to everyone who has reviewed - it really is most appreciated. Enjoy!  
  
Chapter 11  
  
A hundred years earlier, Luc had believed his sire was dead. A letter from Darla had sent him straight across the Atlantic to the New World, trying to escape what he believed was reality.  
  
This was reality.  
  
As the stake went in, Angelus roared and spun around in time to backhand Mike to the ground - but there was no time for more. Even as Luc moved, to try and pull the stake out, to try and prevent tragedy, the Scourge of Europe disintegrated into a cloud of dust.  
  
Luc skidded to a halt, staring in horror and disbelief; the Slayer let her stake drop to the ground, frozen; Mike lay on the pavement and closed his eyes.  
  
Buffy said, softly, "Angel?" her eyes wide and tears already beginning to flow. Close by, Luc murmured, "Sire."  
  
Each heard the other, and their eyes met, and then Luc picked up the sword Angelus had been wielding. The Slayer tensed, but Luc shook his head, and was gone.  
  
Giles was the first to move, stepping forward and helping Mike to sit up. "That was bloody foolish," he said, but his voice was not unkind. "How's the arm?"  
  
"Probably broken again," Mike said, wincing. "I know. It was stupid. But I could see Buffy ... I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't stand there and watch, Giles; I'm a fighter, it's what I'm trained to do. Broken arms or no broken arms."  
  
"You're lucky it paid off," said Giles. "Can you stand?"  
  
Mike nodded, and with Giles's help he managed to get to his feet.  
  
Buffy had not moved. She was still standing staring at the spot where Angelus had been, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. Gently, Giles took her shoulders, and she turned into his chest.  
  
"He's gone. Giles, he's gone."  
  
"Shh," he murmured. "Shhh."  
  
Mike watched, awkward, and crossed to Daniel.  
  
* * *  
  
Luc could never quite remember how he got back to the house in Belgrave Square. He walked blindly, his mind in tumult as he recalled the final deaths of the three beings he knew best in the world - one after another, sharp and quick in direct contrast to long, violent existences.  
  
Inside the house, safe from the sun that would shortly rise, he found Charlie hovering outside the living room. "Mr Tarpeau?"  
  
Luc turned blazing eyes on the younger vampire, who backed away, his hands twisting. "I was worried ... what happened?"  
  
"La mort," Luc said, "death, death happened."  
  
Charlie looked hopeful. "The Slayer?"  
  
"No," said Luc, feeling the weight of the sword in his hand, "Angelus. Now get out of my sight!"  
  
He swept the sword around, and had the brief satisfaction of feeling the blade meet flesh, before the flesh became dust. Dropping it on the carpet, he continued upstairs, going not to his room but to his sire's.  
  
The maroon curtains were drawn against the impending sun, and the covers on the bed had been straightened before Angelus had left the room. Luc closed the door behind him and stood for a moment just inside it, and then he crossed to the bed and lay down. He gazed up at the ceiling, emptily, and let the tears come.  
  
* * *  
  
The police arrived as they were waiting for another car to come and pick up the bodies of the two Council men. Giles and Mike exchanged glances, and went to talk to them together, leaving Buffy sitting by Daniel and Katie on the bench. The Slayer had cried silently for a while before lapsing into silence, and neither Mike nor Giles had attempted to talk to her. There was little, after all, that could be said.  
  
"We heard reports of a disturbance," the constable said, his fingers hooked into his belt.  
  
"It's all over," Giles said. "You should maybe talk to Inspector Ward, constable - we're from the Council of Watchers. The inspector knows all about us and our work."  
  
"We were told it was all very violent," the constable persisted, looking at Mike. "Those men, over there, are they ..."  
  
"Our transport is on its way," Giles said. "We'll be cleared out of here in less than half an hour. There won't be much to show that we've been here at all. Take our names, constable, and talk to Inspector Ward, and you'll see this really isn't within your responsibilities."  
  
The constable pulled out a pad and glanced at his companion, who shrugged and nodded.  
  
"Rupert Giles," said Giles. "Currently resident in Sunnydale, California."  
  
"Mike Fletcher," Mike added, giving his address as well. The policeman wrote the details down and put his pad away, frowning.  
  
"I'll speak to the inspector," he said. "And we may very well be in touch." He cast a last suspicious look at the shapes of the men on the ground, and the two constables walked away.  
  
"Marginally more sensible than the Sunnydale police," remarked Giles.  
  
The car arrived within a few minutes, and Giles helped the driver zip the bodies into bags and put them in the boot. Then he and Mike roused Buffy and Daniel, and in the car they themselves had arrived in (parked nearby in a side street, illegally), they drove back to Headquarters.  
  
In the back of the car Mike leant over and peered at Katie. "Is she hurt?" he asked his brother-in-law.  
  
Daniel nodded, but there was relief in his eyes. "Not badly. I hope." He pushed back the little girl's hair to show one neat bite-mark, already healing. "If she's alive, she can't ... I mean, she won't ..."  
  
"She isn't turned, no," Mike reassured him. "If she eats well she'll recover quickly." He met Daniel's eyes. "We're lucky, Dan."  
  
"I suppose we are," Daniel returned. "I lost ... we lost Sophie, but we still have Katie. And those things - they're gone, now, aren't they?"  
  
Mike nodded, saying nothing, and glanced towards Buffy in the front. But she seemed not to have heard them, and so Mike said in a low voice, "You do know one got away? The Breton, the young-looking man?"  
  
"What will he do?" Daniel asked.  
  
"Nobody knows but him," put in Giles. "Nobody knows."  
  
* * *  
  
Luc lay without moving for hours, just remembering. The day he had first set eyes on Angelus, as a young, naïve country boy lost in the big city; the day he had left Paris to set out on his travels around Europe; the day he had arrived in London, desperate to see his sire again. And more recently, the day he had taken away the soul tormenting Angelus, and set his sire free.  
  
Eventually he sat up, running hands through his hair, and looked about him. There was a book on the bedside table, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be Dante's Inferno. Luc paused, his hand hovering by the handle to the drawers of the table, and then he pulled the top drawer open.  
  
Inside he discovered a pair of handcuffs and a key for them as well as a curved Chinese dagger in an ornamental sheath; in the bottom drawer there were some silk handkerchiefs, folded. Luc lifted one out of the drawer and ran his finger over the embroidered 'A' in the corner, and then put it away again carefully.  
  
Next he stood up and went to the wardrobe, opening it and standing in front of the clothes - fine cotton and silk shirts, leather and velvet trousers and jackets. He felt the fabrics, letting himself imagine his sire in the clothes again. Then Luc picked out one of Angelus' ubiquitous leather jackets and closed the wardrobe, leaving the rest of the clothes as they were.  
  
On a table by the window there was a sketchpad lying open with some pencils next to it. Evidently Angelus had been drawing while they waited to go out for the confrontation with the Slayer. Luc smiled to himself, and turned the cover over. One of Darla, her sensuous body shown in all its glory. The next sheet proved to be another picture of Darla, this time a portrait. And the third picture, not quite finished, was of a young man Luc did not recognise for a moment. He stared at the long dark hair and fine features, perplexed, and then with a shock realised the drawing was of himself.  
  
Tearing the sketch out of the book, he held it up and wondered how accurate a likeness it was. Angelus had drawn him smiling at something, eyes looking out of the picture and over the viewer's shoulder, and Luc found himself returning the smile. He gazed for a little while longer, and then folded up the page and tucked it in the pocket of his sire's jacket.  
  
There was nothing else in the room to hold his interest, and after adding the Chinese dagger to the jacket and the picture, Luc left, closing the door behind him.  
  
In his own room he pulled out his mobile telephone and made a call, before pulling a trunk out from underneath the bed and beginning, methodically, to pack away his belongings. 


	13. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: see prologue  
  
Chapter 12  
  
"My congratulations," Travers said. "I didn't think you could actually do it. Of course it's a pity the Breton got away, but he's only one vampire."  
  
"Two men are dead," Giles said, his eyes furious. "Not to mention countless other victims. If you'd notified us in Sunnydale as soon as you knew that Angelus was back, we could have dealt with this much more efficiently. The whole operation has been a mess from start to finish."  
  
Travers fiddled with a pen. "That I agree with, though I will not take the blame." He sent a look in Mike's direction.  
  
"I did what I thought was best," Mike defended himself, "as you know very well, sir."  
  
"Too well," said Travers. "Well, I would like a report in with me in two days. Dictate it to one of the secretaries. And get that arm looked at, Fletcher - we need you operational again as soon as possible. The more so because we lost Jenkins and Fratelli."  
  
He looked round at the three of them, and seemed about to say something else before clearly thinking better of it and walking out. Giles sank into a chair.  
  
"Prat," he said succinctly.  
  
"I expected to feel ... happier, somehow," Mike said. "But I don't. I just feel empty."  
  
"Yes, I know," Giles agreed. "The summer - the summer after Acathla, I felt I should feel some joy, but I didn't. Empty describes it rather well."  
  
From her place in the corner where she sat with her knees hugged to her chest, Buffy looked up. "I feel like my heart's been torn out," she said softly, the first words she had spoken since they arrived back at Headquarters. Giles and Mike exchanged glances before going to her.  
  
"I'm sorry, Buffy," Mike said.  
  
"No, you had to do it," she returned, lifting large, tear-reddened eyes to him. "I would have done it if I'd been able to - but he was too much for me. Some day every Slayer finds a vampire that's too good for them. I just ... I just never expected it to hurt like this, I guess. Not again." She sighed. "Somewhere inside I kind of hoped we could bring Angel back." Tears began to trickle down her cheeks once again, and angrily Buffy wiped them away. "I always knew he'd be there, waiting, if I needed him. And now ... and now he never will be."  
  
Giles said nothing, merely taking out a handkerchief and handing to his Slayer before putting an arm around her shoulders. Together they stood there, each occupied with their own thoughts.  
  
Buffy and Giles flew home three days later. The young Watcher Steven drove them to the airport. He was marginally more relaxed now in Buffy's company, but was again especially careful about his driving, and he said very little.  
  
Mike hung around until the Slayer and Giles had checked in, and then they came over to him. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Buffy smiled ruefully at Mike.  
  
"Thanks. I think you saved my life the other night, Mike. That puts you in good company."  
  
"Who are the others?" Mike asked softly. She looked at her fingernails.  
  
"Giles, of course. Xander, Willow, Riley ... Spike, as daft as that sounds. I'm going to miss him in a way."  
  
"The most infuriating vampire ever," remarked Giles. Buffy laughed, and then her laugh stopped.  
  
"And Angel. He saved my life a lot. And broke my heart. And comforted me. And loved me."  
  
"I wish I'd met him," Mike said, brushing her arm with the fingertips of his right hand. "I'm so sorry this had to happen, Buffy."  
  
"So'm I," she said, and hugged him. "Look after yourself. Keep in touch - only don't call if you need me to slay anything. Call for nice things. And let me know how Katie does."  
  
"Dan thinks she'll be fine," Mike said, thinking of his little niece. "She keeps asking for Sophie, but that's only to be expected. I'll tell Dan you asked."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Mike nodded, and then found himself enveloped in a hug from Giles.  
  
"Let's hope we both sleep better from now on," the Watcher said. "If there's any word on the Breton, let me know."  
  
"I will."  
  
Buffy let Giles move away, and then hugged Mike again, before glancing at Steven, giving Mike a little grin, and hugging Steven too. "Thanks for the rides," she said.  
  
Steven had gone bright pink, but managed to stammer a, "No problem," before he turned away. Mike shook his head at her.  
  
"That's just mean," he said. Smiling, Buffy shrugged.  
  
"I know. See you. Soon."  
  
Mike nodded, and watched as they lifted their hand luggage and turned away. At the first security point, Buffy turned and waved, and then she and Giles were gone.  
  
Mike sighed, and walked over to Steven. "Come on, then. Let's go."  
  
"She's amazing," Steven said, as they headed out towards the car park. "More than I ever imagined a Slayer would be."  
  
"She is," Mike agreed. "She really is."  
  
The two men exchanged smiles, and behind them, the check in desk for flight BA729 to Los Angeles closed.  
  
* * *  
  
Luc handed his forged passport over to the customs officer and smiled. "Bonjour."  
  
"Bonjour, m'sieu," the officer said, scanning the passport in a cursory manner. "Merci." He handed it back, and Luc tucked it in a pocket of Angelus' leather jacket, settled the strap of his bag more comfortably on his shoulder, and went to find his trunk.  
  
Ten minutes later, the trunk stowed in the boot of a cab, and the cab weaving through night time Parisian traffic, Luc was taking in the sights and smells of France for the first time in over a century.  
  
He had found the train journey underneath the Channel relaxing and novel, the experience dulling for a while the pain of what seemed like a hole deep inside him. Now, he was vaguely comforted to find that Paris had changed a lot, the cars and the lights seeming to speed the city up somehow.  
  
The cab driver tried, and failed, to make conversation with his passenger, and they made the journey from the Gare du Nord down through the bustling city in good time. Looking out of the window, his chin pillowed on his hand, Luc saw with a start of recognition the double towers of Notre Dame to the south. This was territory he knew now, the sandstone streets of the Marais and the Right Bank, and though the neon signs above the doors of the gay clubs were unfamiliar, he began to feel at home.  
  
In a short while the cab pulled up outside a building with a 'hotel' sign outside, and Luc climbed out. For a moment he wondered whether to kill the driver and have done with it, but the indecision lasted only a second and he paid the man off and watched him driver away.  
  
With his trunk on the ground by his side, Luc looked up at the façade of the hotel and smiled to himself. On a summer's day in 1838 he had stood in the same place with another trunk next to him, preparing himself to enter the service of a smooth-talking Irish vampire.  
  
Now Luc Tarpeau, the Breton, stepped forward and rang the bell of the house that had once belonged to Angelus. He had come full circle. It was time to start over again.  
  
FIN  
  
* * *  
  
Author's notes: and so, once again, we bid a fond "au revoir" to Luc. Many thanks to reviewers - I've been flattered by the too-generous comments, but am very glad you enjoyed the story.  
  
As of June 17th 2003, you can, if you want, move on to the sequel: "To Find Yourself." 


End file.
